Not So Innocent
by plenoptic
Summary: Optimus Prime's adventures with the luscious femmes who make up his royal harem. EXPLICIT, STICKY, SLASH, M FOR GOOD REASON, ETC! Now includes a free plotline!
1. The Flower

**Untitled 10.24.2009**

_Plenoptic_

**Happy Boifday, Leggy :D**

**Nightshade is NOT MINE. She is exclusively the property of leggy-poo. I'm just whoring her out for a while. Er, borrowing her. Borrowing is what I meant :3**

* * *

The only sounds in the room were the soft pants and moans of the couple entwined on the berth, the quick, thumping impact of hips on hips, the quiet whirring of sorely overworked coolant systems. A short, sweet cry echoed in the silence as the femme overloaded, followed shortly thereafter by the deep, delicious groan of her mate. They collapsed together, heaving, panting, struggling to regain their strength.

"Been too long since we did that," Optimus Prime said weakly, a dazed smile crossing his faceplates.

Elita One laughed shakily, reaching up with trembling fingers to rub his audio receptors, stroking upwards to his antenna apparatus. Prime purred quietly, titling his head to allow her better access.

"You know," she murmured, ducking her head to whisper into his very attentive audios, "Ratchet told me that an Autobot ship is pulling into orbit."

Optimus's smile widened, his spark glowing at the thought of more of his beloved Autobots on base. "That's wonderful."

"He also said," Elita continued, her voice dropping in pitch, "that there is a special flower on that ship."

Optimus's whole body stiffened, and a moment later a low growl rolled from his throat, predatory and excited. "Well. That _is_ interesting." He shifted onto his lower arms, bracing himself above his femme and looking down at her, optics alight with excitement. "Tell me more about this flower…"

* * *

Nightshade sank nervously into a seat at an empty table, fiddling with the energon cube in her hands and glancing anxiously around the rec room. There was one table occupied by femmes, all talking amiably and laughing together; the other tables were occupied by some of the loudest and rowdiest mechs Nightshade had ever seen or heard.

Gulping subtly, she sank a little lower in her seat, wrapping her delicate fingers tightly around the energon cube. It was sort of nerve-wracking, this Earth base. The femmes all had very well established friendships, and there were far fewer femmes than mechs, so Nightshade had received more than a few propositions in the short time she'd been on base. She didn't know how to deal with the mechs other than to run away…

"How come you're all by yourself?"

Nightshade looked up in an odd jerking movement and gaped stupidly up at the femmes standing at her table. They were so pretty! The mint green one appeared to be the one who had spoken; her red-and-black companion was watching Nightshade quizzically, chewing on a piece of energon candy.

"You deaf?" the femme inquired, arching one optic ridge. "Why aren't you sitting with us?"

"Don't be mean, Fire," the green femme chided, frowning at her companion before turning a bright smile onto Nightshade. "We'll sit with you, okay?"

"S-Sure," Nightshade stammered out, folding her hands on her lap as the two femmes took seats across from her.

"Want some?" 'Fire' asked, holding out the bag of energon goodies. Nightshade eyed it warily. "Come on, I haven't poisoned it," the femme added, and Nightshade hesitantly took a piece with a barely audible 'Thank you.'

"You're new on base, aren't you?" the green femme inquired, cocking her head to the side. "I'm Moonracer, and this is Firestar. What's your name?"

"Nightshade," the little femme said, sinking down in her seat. "Yes, I'm new…I just came in with the ship."

"Huh. So ya barely been here a week," Firestar noted, selecting a new piece of candy from her bag. "How do ya like it?"

"It's nice," Nightshade said meekly. "Very nice."

"Are the mechs treatin' ya okay?"

"Um…" Nightshade shrugged one shoulder. "They're not being mean or anything."

"Huh." Firestar chewed her candy thoughtfully before turning around and shouting to the other table, "Hey, Mia, Lita! C'mere, we've got a newbie."

The other femmes looked up and stood, joining Nightshade's table and seating themselves swiftly. Nightshade felt her faceplates growing hot as the femmes surveyed her carefully. They were both astonishingly beautiful, their armor shined and pristine, their posture graceful and regal.

"Must be that femme Ratch told you about," the dusky blue femme said, arching an optic ridge at her red-hued companion. The other femme nodded, and they exchanged a grin before turning back to Nightshade.

"No need to look so nervous, dear," the red femme said, reaching out to pat Nightshade's helm comfortingly. "I am Elita One, and this is my SIC, Chromia. Welcome to Earth."

"Thank you," Nightshade said weakly, shocked at being addressed directly by the femme commander. "I'll do my best to please you, ma'am…"

"She already has an incredibly sexy sparkmate to take care of that, dearie," Chromia said flatly, waving a hand and dismissing Elita's protesting squeal. "You just be yourself."

"Chromia!" Elita hissed irritably, scowling at her lieutenant. "None of that around the younglings!"

"I'm not a youngling anymore," Nightshade piped up. "I've officially been an adult for almost three weeks now."

All of the femmes seated around the table snorted in unison; Elita silenced them with a harsh glare. "That's exciting," she said sweetly, directing her attention to Nightshade. "Where are you living right now, dear?"

"Just in some temporary quarters," Nightshade responded, shifting uncomfortably under her commander's slightly smoldering gaze. Now wasn't that an odd question. "Nothing too…interesting…" Was it her imagination, or where her companions all leaning in a little closer?

"Now that's no way for a little femme to live," Firestar purred, turning her rapt gaze to a slightly frowning Elita. "Whaddaya say, Commander? You and Optimus were considering it anyway, right?"

Nightshade released a small squeak—Optimus? The _Prime_? What did she have to do with the _Prime_?

"So we have," Elita agreed after a moment. "Nightshade…I'm going to reassign you to some new quarters, okay?"

…And so it came to be that Nightshade went to live with Optimus Prime.

"The purpose of these living arrangements, you see, is to provide a safe and threat-free environment for our femmes to live in. As Prime I do have first rights to these femmes, but this is not enforced. You may live and bed with whomever you choose, Nightshade, but please do seek my permission first. I am here, first and foremost, to keep you safe."

Optimus Prime paused, cocking his head carefully, observing the small femme sitting across from him. She looked a little scared, her cerulean blue optics darting to every corner of the room—anywhere but at him.

"Nightshade," he said gently, reaching out to touch her hand, and she jumped at the contact. "You do not have to stay here if you do not wish. The war is dangerous right now, and my only interest is keeping as many femmes safe as I can. I am here to protect you, little one."

She bobbed her head up and down nervously. Optimus smiled, leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on her foreplate before rising, his impressive body hulking over hers. "Now then. Shall we go see if Elita and the others have you settled in?"

Again she bobbed her head, and Optimus felt his spark swell a little. She was so damn cute! Still blushing from the little kiss he'd given her. With a bright smile he enfolded her tiny hand in his own huge one and led her gently from the little room into his main quarters. Moonracer and Firestar were lounging on the couch, idly flipping through channels on the vidscreen; Arcee was sitting on the ground at their feet, busily reading a data pad.

"Where are Elita and Chromia?" Optimus questioned, releasing Nightshade's hand to step forward and place one hand on either of the femme's shoulders.

"Around," Moonracer said absently. "They got Nightshade's room all made up." She turned her head, blinking over at the little femme hovering nervously in the doorway. "It's just to the left of Optimus's, if you want to check it out."

Nightshade nodded timidly, excusing herself and trotting into the hallway to her right. It was dark, and lined with bulletproof, explosion-resistant doors. One door was decorated with a fiery red Autobot symbol; taking this to be Optimus's, she cautiously opened the door to its left, poking her head into her new room.

She smiled as she entered, running her fingers over the plush, colorful cushions lining her recharge berth. Her personal effects had all been set up exactly as they'd been in her old quarters; the walls were a comforting purplish color, and the floor was decorated with what appeared to be a thermal blanket.

"Imported," Optimus's voice came from behind her, and she craned her head back to look up at her new protector. "It's called a rug," he explained, stepping around her to trace a pattern on the 'rug' with his pede. "Organics line their floors with them because their feet are not protected by armor, as ours are." He turned around to face her, smiling slightly. "Do you like it?"

"It's comfortable," she responded, smiling up at him. "Thank you. For letting me stay here, I mean. I probably would have been very lonely all by myself."

Optimus was quiet for a moment, his optics ethereal as fire in the dim lighting. After a moment, he stepped forward and took both of her small hands in his, stroking the backs gently with his thumbs. "Chromia is heated up some evening energon," he informed her quietly. "Will you join us?"

She nodded, feeling strangely speechless. His mouthplates brushed tenderly over the top of her head before he bypassed her, stepping out into the hall. Nightshade padded after him, smiling upon seeing the congregation of femmes in the lounge. Moonracer and Firestar had given up their passive-channel flipping and were now arguing over what movie to watch; Elita and Arcee were on the couch laughing at them, while Chromia swore to herself when she dripped hot energon on her chestplate.

"Want me to get that for you?" Optimus asked slyly, stepping up behind her, and she jerked an elbow back into his abdomen.

"Behave," Chromia growled, wiping up the energon with a finger before sticking the digit into her mouth, sucking it gently. Optimus twitched visibly, his huge form going rigid, and the femme smirked before carrying the tray around his massive frame and joining her sisters. Optimus grumbled to himself before spinning on one heel and joining them.

"Move," he grunted, and Chromia and Elita shuffled out of his way as he dumped his aft onto the couch, picking up a giggling Arcee and pulling her into his lap with a playful growl.

"Come sit with us, Nightshade," Moonracer invited eagerly, patting the spot on the floor beside her. Nightshade sank down beside the little table, and Moonracer beamed, handing her the cube of energon. "Careful, it's hot."

"Do we have to watch a romance _again_?" Elita whined, pointing at the vidscreen. "I can only watch them snogging for so long before I start to get sick to my tanks."

"You don't have a problem when it's just the two of us," Optimus purred, and she hit his thigh with a resounding _clang_. "Ouch, Elita!"

"Dirty old mech! You asked for it!"

"I wanna see something blow up," Chromia drawled, and Arcee snorted.

"You _always_ wanna see something blow up, Chromi."

"I told you not to call me that!"

"That's what Oppy calls you…"

"I told you not to call _me_ that!"

Nightshade couldn't help but smile as she watched them bicker, a warm feeling touching her spark. It was like being part of a family unit. Granted, a family unit composed of one exceedingly gorgeous mech and his harem, but a family unit all the same. Optimus's every action spoke of his love for his femmes. Holding Arcee securely in his lap with one arm around her waist, he used the other hand to tickle and pet the laughing Elita and Chromia. As though sensing her gaze, he glanced over at Nightshade, and a smile touched his faceplates. He extended his hand to her, and she leaned forward to take it cautiously, squeaking in surprise when he pulled her forward, dropping her against his side.

"Relax," he said softly, his warm exhaust fans fanning over her audio as he spoke. She felt a strange tingling in her abdomen, a tingling that increased when he pulled her into the spot recently vacated by Arcee. His arms came around her gently, pulling her into an embrace, his chin on her shoulder. For a long time she couldn't relax, trying hard not to think about how shockingly close he was as they watched the random showing selected by Moonracer on the vidscreen.

Nightshade shifted uncomfortably, her optics dimming. The tingling was moving lower and lower. She felt hot and wet between her legs, and her abdomen felt tight. She suspected it had something to do with the mech pressed up against her back.

"You feel a little overheated, Night," Optimus said quietly, nuzzling the side of her helm. "Are you alright?"

"I…yes…I just…I'm feeling…a little…" She broke off, startled by the moan that rose up in her throat when the mech shifted beneath her, his thigh coming between her legs. Optimus was silent for a moment, noting her reaction.

"Have you never been taken, Nightshade?" he asked softly, his voice taking on a new, lower pitch. She shook her head, a little confused. She didn't know what he meant exactly, but she knew it involved a male, and she'd never been with one like this before in her life.

"Nightshade…" She squeaked in surprise when he put his hand gently between her legs, parting her thighs; the squeak turned into a moan when his fingers massaged the protected area gently. "Has a mech ever touched you here?"

She shook her head rapidly, her frame heating up to nearly unbearable heights. This feeling—what was it? The hotness, the wet feeling, the throbbing…the _need_…

"Do you know what interface is, Nightshade?" His voice was so low now she thought his vocalizer would break. She shook her head hard, shuttering her optics, trying to focus on the feel of his fingers against her sodpiece.

"For the love of Primus, Optimus, get her out of here if you're going to frag around, some of us are trying to watch," Chromia grumbled, and without another word Nightshade found herself swept up into the Prime's arms.

He did not speak as he carried her from the room, ignoring the giggles of his femmes, and propelled himself down the hallway, all but kicking his door open before depositing her smoothly onto his berth. He shut and locked the door, then turned to survey her carefully. She hadn't moved from where he'd set her down; on her back, pushed up on her elbows, thighs parted slightly because this slightly relieved the burning in her port.

"Prime?" she said cautiously, blinking up at him.

"I didn't know you were a virgin," he rumbled, striding forward to seat himself beside her. His optics were almost purple they were so dark.

"S-sir…?"

"Have you ever interfaced?"

"No, sir…"

"Have you ever even been kissed?"

"No, sir," she repeated, feeling her faceplates grow hot under his scrutiny. "Never…"

"…Nightshade…" She looked up and almost shrieked in surprise when he leaned forward suddenly, cupping her face in one hand and pushing her gently onto her back, suspending his immense frame over hers. "You're too beautiful for your own good," Prime rumbled, dipping his head lower.

"P-Prime…"

"Optimus, love," he said softly, tracing the contours of her face. "It's Optimus."

"Optimus," she breathed, and with a low moan he leaned down, capturing her mouth with his. She blinked in confusion at the contact, but her optic shutters slid closed when his lips began to move, dancing softly against hers, his glossa darting out to lap gently at hers. His hands pinned her hands by her audios, fingers locking with hers as he kissed her.

Nightshade moaned softly at the feel of his mouth, the feel of his body brushing hers. His crotch was pressed up against her thigh, undulating gently. Optimus opened his lips further, grunting softly as he tried to gain better access to her mouth. She was sweet, the softest hint of spice greeting him when he dipped his glossa into her mouth. His rod felt stiff and hard; the sensitive metal was going to chafe if he didn't get his crotchplate off soon…for the sake of the slightly trembling femme beneath him, he kept himself restrained.

He lowered a hand between her legs, gauging her reactions carefully. She whimpered softly, her hips jumping upwards to his palm. His optics darkened, a low, wanton growl rolling from his throat. It had been a long time since he'd had a virgin in his berth. Arcee had been the last, and that had been…Primus, he'd lost track of the vorns.

"Nightshade," he said quietly, and she mewled softly in response, still moving her hips insistently against his hand. "Nightshade. If I do anything to make you uncomfortable, tell me at once. I shall stop. I want you to enjoy this."

She bobbed her head up and down twice, and he immediately kicked himself when he wondered how it would feel to have that head bobbing around his interface, his spike in her mouth with her glossa tickling him, caressing him…Prime shuddered deeply, shaking himself free of the fantasy. She'd never even been kissed before, she certainly wouldn't know what to do with a mech's erect phallus in her mouth.

Gently so as not to upset her, Prime removed her sodpiece, barely able to restrain his moan when her small, moist port came into view. Nightshade stiffened, cocking her head to the side with a small frown.

"Night?" he prompted, arching an optic ridge.

"I don't take it off much," she admitted shyly, unable to look him in the optics.

"Have…" He paused, frowning. "Have you ever…touched yourself, Nightshade?"

She shook her head back and forth. "No. Should I have?" The look in his optics…it wasn't worrying her, exactly, but it made her slightly uneasy. He was looking at her like…like he wanted to _consume_ her, like he wanted to _own _her. His lips were parted, like he was almost panting, and his optics were practically on fire.

Optimus said nothing in response to her question, instead shifting himself off the berth to stand up, his back to her. She heard a soft click, saw his right hand move to his front, and a low groan released itself from the back of his throat. After a moment he turned around once more and climbed back onto the berth, settling himself on his knees before her. He had his hand wrapped around a long, cylindrical appendage between his legs.

"This," he grunted softly, beginning to stroke his length gently, "is an interface appliance. More lewdly referred to as a spike. Phallus. Rod. Whatever you like."

Nightshade nodded wordlessly, mesmerized by the movement of his hand—up and down, caressing, squeezing, working himself hard.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a small voice, and he smirked.

"This? Jerking off," he snorted, shaking his head slightly. "Honestly, Nightshade, one would think you've never even been around a male."

"I haven't, really," she responded shyly. "I'd never even seen a male before I boarded the Neutral ship. This is certainly the first time I've ever been alone with one…"

Optimus exhaled softly, reluctantly letting up on his semi-hard spike to stretch out beside her. "Nightshade. Shall I show you what males and females do together?"

"…Um…"

"It is called interface. I shall insert my spike into your port and thrust until your sensory circuits can no longer handle the deluge of information, and you will overload."

"O-Overload?"

"You will enjoy it. I promise you that."

"What does it feel like?"

He frowned, rubbing his chin. "Hm. Hard to describe, really, until you've felt it. It just feels…_good_. Wonderful, really. All of the stress leaves you, and you can't think of anything else but your own partner, and—"

"Why not just show her, Optimus?"

The bots sprawled on the berth looked up to see Elita One leaning casually against the doorway, a small smirk dancing on her faceplates.

"Show her?" Optimus repeated, arching an optic ridge when his mate stepped into the room, closed the door behind her, and moved to stand beside the berth.

"Why not? She might feel better once she knows you're not going to do something too strange to her." Elita smirked, reaching down to trail her fingertips down Optimus's broad chest and to his lower abdomen, tactfully ignoring his hard spike. "Besides. You've been neglecting me lately."

Optimus sat up at once, grabbing the femme's lower arm and wrapping his other hand around her waist. "I haven't meant to."

"Of course not," she responded with a smile, stroking his helm lovingly. "But you have a lot of femmes to take care of. Now then, Nightshade," she said sweetly, smiling at the little femme, "shall Optimus and I show you an interface? Then you can decide if you would like to try."

Nightshade considered, then nodded timidly. Optimus smiled briefly before turning back to the rosy femme before him, pulling her into him intimately. Elita cupped his face in her hands, stroking the warm metal for a moment before leaning in to press her mouthplates to his. Nightshade cocked her head, confused—what were they doing?

"Ugh…" Optimus wrestled his mouth free. "She can't see, love…"

"Oh. Of course. Adjust as you please, milord," Elita teased softly, grinning down at her noble mech. Optimus smirked and took hold of the femme, delicately kissing the inside of her wrist before grabbing her fully and pulling her onto the berth, rolling to pin her beneath his mass. He returned his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply, brushing his hips against hers as he did so.

"What is that?" Nightshade questioned after a moment, and this time it was Elita who had to struggle to break the contact, leaving Optimus panting and pouting above her while she turned to look at the other femme.

"A kiss, little one," Elita laughed, smiling.

"Is that a part of interface?"

"Sometimes. Not always. Usually only between mechanisms that know and care about one another."

Optimus grunted his assent, ducking his head to mouth gently at his mate's throat while Elita continued to explain the many intricacies of kissing. He allowed his mind to wander while the femmes talked. Elita was a wonderful partner, his longtime lover and best friend, and normally he'd be on his knees begging to bury himself within her, but he was impatient to get inside Nightshade. His femmes knew exactly what he wanted, what he liked, and they were all formatted to his appliance, but nothing compared to the feel of a tight, hot, virginal port wrapped around his length. It was a guilty pleasure that he didn't get to indulge very often.

"Optimus? Are you ready or what?"

He lifted his head, a bright smile decorating his faceplates. "Yes, I am."

"I thought we'd just skip the foreplay, love," Elita purred, petting his quickly hardening spike lovingly, delighting in his moan and instinctive jerk of the hips. "You can do all that with her. Besides, I'm feeling a little anxious…"

"As am I," he groaned, situating himself atop her as she spread her thighs and removed her sodpiece. "How would you like it, love?"

"Mmm…I don't care, just get all of you inside me, understand? I don't want to be able to walk tomorrow…"

A blissful smile spread over his faceplates. He and Elita normally spent whole nights interfacing together, they enjoyed prolonged intimacy, and therefore they often had to take it in moderation. For her to tell him to bury himself until their groins touched and frag her until she couldn't walk was like putting a child in a candy store and ordering him to eat until he wouldn't be able to shovel down any dinner.

"Yes ma'am," he purred, grasping her jaw in one hand and lowering his mouth to hers, kissing her heatedly. "Your wish is my command…"

And he wasted no time in thrusting into her. Elita released a long gasp, arching her back, bringing their chests into contact. Optimus was panting already, his fingers curling into the slightly giving material of his berth, optics almost rolling back into his head at the feel of his femme enclosing his spike.

"Ugh…Primus…Optimus, _move_," she moaned, reaching around his broad body to grip his aft, trying desperately to pull him into her. Optimus growled softly and began to thrust in slow, methodic movements, plunging his whole length into her before pulling out with an excruciating lack of speed, making sure she could feel his whole phallus moving against the moist walls of her port. His hands went to work, groping and caressing her breastplates and aft.

Nightshade watched curiously, fascinated by the mechanisms writhing together on the berth. Elita was crying out, but she didn't seem to be in pain; on the contrary, Nightshade caught glimpses of a euphoric grin crossing the femme's faceplate every so often.

"Ungh…ugh…fu…frag…" Optimus groaned, dropping his head onto the femme's chest. "Ugh…Elita, could you…?"

"Spice it up a little?" she laughed breathlessly. "Fine, fine, stop for a moment…"

It took all of his willpower to do so, but he managed to still his hips, his throbbing rod still buried deep within her. Elita gave her hips a playful wiggle, making her strong mate yelp in delight, before hooking her legs over his shoulders. Optimus released a long, excited groan, delighting at the changed angle.

"Better," he panted, grinning wildly. "Much better."

"Then _move_, you stupid lugnut!"

He obliged her immediately, bracing one hand above her head and grasping her thigh with the other to stabilize her as he moved within her. Abandoning all thoughts of taking it slow, he opted to take her hard and fast, taking care to bury his entire length within her before pulling out. Elita's sweet cries were escalating into short, breathy screams, her optics dark with lust as she looked up at the male who was so busily impaling her. Optimus ducked his head as best he could (Nightshade marveled at their flexibility) to close his panting mouth over hers in a heated kiss. Her hands lifted to caress his helm, lovingly tracing the contours she knew so very well.

She came a moment later, her entire body arching and tightening as her overload ripped through her. Her vocalizer shorted out almost instantaneously, leaving her screaming soundlessly as she thrust back against her mate. Optimus released a low, wanton growl, hopelessly aroused by the look of his mate overloading around him. He ducked his head further to bite roughly at her neck and collar armor, marking her as his. Her body settled after the longest few moments of her life, intakes panting heavily, optics blinking dazedly.

Optimus moved to finish his own overload, falling to his knees, bent over her contorted body. He placed both hands on her aft and brought her hips up to his own, moving in her hard and fast. Elita purred when she felt his glossa on the inside of her thigh, his panting breath teasing her sensitive protoform.

The mech came with an almighty roar, throwing his hips hard into hers, one huge hand hitting the berth on either side of her head as his body seized and convulsed. He came down from his high slowly, thrusting out the tingling vestiges of his erection with soft snarls and grunts. Elita lowered her legs, grimacing as she stretched out the sore joints. She was flexible enough, but it was going to be awhile before they did it like _that_ again.

Optimus pulled out of his femme reluctantly, sitting back against the other end of the berth.

"Not bad," Elita laughed weakly after a moment, and he snorted.

"You loved it."

"Of course I did," she purred, sitting up and running her fingers down the seam of his broad chest. "Need a clean up, love?"

"Wouldn't mind it," he replied, eyeing his half-cocked rod, covered in his and Elita's various fluids. "Feeling generous?"

"Oh, no, not me," she smirked, reaching one beckoning hand out to Nightshade. "Come here, sweetie."

"M-Me?" Nightshade squeaked out, her optics going wide. "What should I…?"

"I'll show you, lovey, don't worry," Elita said gently, pulling the little femme close. "Now, listen, there's something you can do to make a mech do _whatever_ you want afterwards. This is a sure-fire way to make this one behave in particular…"

"Uh-huh," Optimus muttered absently, feeling his rod swell again at the sight of two femmes sitting together at the foot of his berth. "Elita, whatever you're going to do…"

"Patience, sweetie, I'm getting there," Elita responded coyly. "Nightshade, if you don't want to, you just speak up. We're not here to make you uncomfortable."

Nightshade nodded slowly, and taking this as her cue, Elita got onto her hands and knees and ran her glossa up the entire length of Optimus's rod. His reaction was instantaneous, his head dropping back and a long moan resounding from his throat.

"More," he growled, thrusting his hips up, and Elita willingly enclosed her mate's thick rod in her mouth, sweeping her glossa over the head and humming softly to stimulate him further. Optimus gave a short cry, one huge hand wrapping around the back of her helm and pulling her closer, a shudder passing through him when her denta touched against the bottom side of his equipment.

Elita wriggled backwards, pulling off of the mech's phallus, much to his obvious disgruntlement. "You wanna try?" the rosy femme offered, arching an optic ridge in the stunned Nightshade's direction. "You don't have to…"

"No, I'm fine," Nightshade decided, scooting forward cautiously. "Um…do I bite, or…?"

"No!" Optimus fairly shrieked, shaking his head back and forth as fast as possible while Elita crowed with laughter. "No, no, please don't…"

"Lick and suck, dearie," Elita said, still giggling wildly. "Be gentle, it's sensitive down there. No biting."

"_No biting_," Optimus reiterated, which only served to send Elita into hysterics again. Nightshade moved forward nervously, eyeing the enormous rod waving at her between Optimus's thighs. He shuttered his optics, a ripple tearing through his frame when her warm mouth slowly enclosed the head of his rod. She was tentative, her glossa snaking out cautiously to touch him, lips inching down his length.

"There you go," he breathed, rubbing her helm gently to encourage her. "Mmmn…you're doing wonderfully, Night…"

Nightshade yelped when she felt hands on her thighs, abandoning her commander's rod to look over her shoulder. Elita was crouching behind her, stroking her legs gently.

"Relax, Night, I won't hurt you," Elita said soothingly, petting the little femme's round aft. "Spread your legs for me, and let yourself relax."

Nightshade nodded slowly, returning her attentions to Optimus, a strange tingling spreading into her lower abdomen at the feel of the small hands dancing over her aft and thighs. Optimus arched an optic ridge at his mate, and she smirked at him, giving him a wink.

-_Just thought I'd warm her up,-_ she transmitted, and he released a low chuckle, pumping his hips gently against Nightshade's diligent mouth.

-_Go easy on her, love.—_

Nightshade stiffened marginally when she felt Elita's warm hands remove her sodpiece, shuddering gently at the cool air wafting over her sensitive equipment.

"Nighty, tell me if I make you uncomfortable," Elita murmured, placing her palm against the little femme's exposed port. Nightshade bobbed her head up and down, earning a rich moan from the mech she was servicing. "And I think it's time to get off of Optimus, or he won't last another interface."

"Evil femme," Optimus griped at her, but placed his hands on Nightshade's shoulders and lifted her gently off of his rod, instead situating her in his lap with her legs tossed over his thighs. She squealed in surprise and pleasure when his rod brushed up against her virgin port, trapped between their warm bodies.

"Wha—_oooh_—Optimus…?"

"Relax," he breathed, drawing lightly on her full lips and grinding his hips up into hers. "Relax…"

Her tiny fingers curled against his chest, optics darkening with awakening lust when he slid a hand between her legs, kissing her intimately as his fingers lightly stroked the rim of her port. She gasped against his mouth, lips attacking his more firmly when he slid the tip of one finger into her. He felt a gush of lubricate hit his fingers and pushed in a little further, rod swelling uncomfortably at the sheer tightness of her port.

"Primus, femme, do you have any idea how good you look?" he breathed, brushing his mouthplates over the soft sinew of her throat.

"Optimus," she moaned, wiggling her hips and trying to thrust against him. "Ahh…it feels…_aahhh_…"

He moved a second finger into her, relishing in the tightening of her walls around his thick digits. She was humping gently against his hand, fingers clutching his chest tightly, sweet little gasps escaping her pert lips.

"Remember she's never done this before, Optimus," Elita intoned softly, moving forward to softly stroke the little femme's back. "Be gentle."

"Of course," Optimus rumbled. "Nightshade, are you comfortable with me entering you?"

"Yes," she breathed eagerly. "Yes, Optimus, please…"

Nodding, he motioned Elita out of the way with one strong hand before lowering his new lover onto her back, bracing himself over her on his thick arms, a hand on either side of her helm.

"Just say the word, and I'll stop," he rumbled, leaning in to gently mouth against her throat. "I don't want to hurt you, Nightshade."

She nodded breathlessly, eagerly eyeing the swollen rod hovering at the entrance of her port. Elita stretched out next to them comfortably, prepared to step in at the slightest sign of discomfort from the other femme. She loved her mate dearly, and she knew he'd never, ever hurt Nightshade intentionally, but his love of virgin femmes (hence the title Official Femme Deflowerer) sometimes got him a little carried away.

Gently, carefully, ever heedful of her comfort levels, Optimus hoisted a leg around his slim hips, sighing in delight when her crotch came flush with his. Elita reached in between their entwined bodies, stealing a smoldering kiss from her mate as she helped align his hard rod with Nightshade's port.

"Are you ready?" she asked quietly, turning her gaze downward to the simpering femme on the berth. Panting, Nightshade nodded, a little surprised by her own lack of control over her body. Her hips were working upwards, struggling to meet Optimus's, and her fingers were clenching and unclenching on the berth seemingly of their own accord. A soft moan slipped past her vocalizer as he leant down, gently meshing his lips with hers, kissing her tenderly.

And then he penetrated her, and her whole body erupted into sweet fire. Her back arched, head tipping back as a long cry echoed from her throat. Optimus positively snarled, dropping his head to her shoulder as he pushed his hips into hers.

"Are you alright?" he panted out, mouthing against her throat when she whimpered. He knew he was a lot of mech to take, especially for a femme's first time.

"Fine," she breathed, lacing her arms around his waist. "Don't stop-!"

"Understood," he laughed out, placing one warm hand on her aft and shifting her hips upward to get better access to her hot port. She squealed softly, clenching her valve, milking his hard spike in her excited fluids. Prime shuttered his optics, pumping gently against her hips, groaning softly when Elita gave his aft a playful squeeze, encouraging him onward. Just listening to Nightshade's melodic cries was enough to make him want to climax then and there, but for her sake he persevered, running through a duty status list mentally to take his mind off of his impending overload.

Nightshade wasn't making his task any easier. Squealing, thrashing, writhing in ecstasy, small hands dancing all over his coolant sweating frame, she went at their mating with reckless abandon, thrusts hopelessly out of rhythm with his.

"Night," he murmured, stroking one large thumb over her cheekplate, "stop. You're messing me up, sweet, just let me do the work, alright?"

"S-Sorry," she gasped, wild blue optics meeting his steady gaze. "I—I don't know how—"

"I know," he soothed, kissing her foreplate warmly. "Leave everything to me."

She nodded, allowing herself to relax against his spacious berth. Elita reached out to gently stroke the little femme's helm, giving her subordinate an encouraging nod as Optimus repositioned himself. He lowered his head to kiss her again, savoring her supple lips before moving down to nip gently at her slender jaw, biting into the nirvana of her sinewy throat, soothing the sting with his glossa when she inhaled sharply. Nightshade shuttered her optics, tipping her head back and allowing him to do what he wished, thoroughly enjoying the mech's passionate touch.

He allowed himself to explore her, luminous blue optics casting an appreciative gaze down her slender body. She had a lovely little body, a wonderfully tantalizing chest, small waist, round aft, pretty curves from hips to thigh to calves to tiny feet. And she _was _cute. Not exactly stunning, spark-haltingly gorgeous like Chromia or Elita, but damn adorable nonetheless. Innocent and vulnerable, trusting. It made his pump speed up, knowing that he was the first to teach her what a male could provide her.

Nightshade appraised him as well, breath catching when she looked up at the powerful male. His upper torso was a perfect triangle shape, his shoulders and chest broad and strong, his waist delightfully narrow, hips and perfectly shaped aft supported by endlessly long legs. His hands were thick and strong, hands that had torn Decepticons in two in fits of rage and brought countless femmes to the sweetest levels of ecstasy in fits of passion. A complex, beautiful, deliciously handsome mech.

"Ready to give it another go?" he inquired softly, leaning in to brush his mouthplates over the pretty crest of her helm. She nodded shyly, placing her small hands on his shoulders, bringing her mouth up to place a tentative kiss on the underside of his jaw.

"Don't be shy," he chuckled, caressing her cheekplate, optics warm. "Touch me, Night."

She hesitated for a moment longer before lifting her hands once more, trailing her fingertips down the impressive curve of his jaw, allowing her thumb to trace over his parted lips. Optimus shuttered his optics, enjoying the cautious, exploratory touch, her brief caresses sending tingles through his neural circuitry. He could feel his hydraulics depressurizing as he began to relax, and he forced himself to relive the last few breems to keep himself from drifting off. It unnerved him a little, how he was so comforted by her; no femme but Elita had ever lulled him so nearly into recharge.

But almost as if sensing his thoughts, he felt Elita's hands on him as well, rubbing his back, dipping beneath his heavy armor to stimulate his sensitive protoform.

Elita's optics darkened as her mate groaned, writhing a little at both femme's ministrations. "Dip your fingers underneath his chestplating," she suggested softly to Nightshade. "Just under the chestguard—there you go. Touch the protoform, but only just."

"Wicked femme," Optimus groaned softly, his soft words melting into a moan when Nightshade did as instructed. A shudder tore through him, a wild gasp shaking loose of his vocalizer when Elita's fingers darted down to stroke the exposed base of his rod.

Nightshade squeaked in surprise when Optimus suddenly enfolded her in his arms, winding their bodies intimately together, nipping her jaw and biting her throat as he pressed his hips back into her, entering her in one fluid motion. She dropped her head back, optics fluttering closed as he impaled her, one large hand grasping her thight to open her legs. He adjusted carefully, thrusting upwards into her, stimulating every inch of her he could find, the very base of his rod coming into contact with her external node, wrenching soft, sobbing gasps from the femme with every thrust.

"Oh, Primus," she whispered, her body going slack in his arms, fingers clenching and unclenching on the mussed thermoblankets of his massive berth. "Oh, _Primus_, Optimus…I…"

"It's okay," Elita purred softly, lowering her mouth to the little femme's audio. "Let it come. Let yourself go."

Nightshade dropped her head onto the berth, shuttering her optics, focusing exclusively on the feel of her Prime's enormous spike rubbing against every conceivable surface of her innermost self, the incredible stimulation of the delicate node just above her port, the wet, hot fluid contact between them…

A shudder passed through her, a ripple that left her entire body rigid and stiff, and suddenly her vision turned white, ecstasy rolling through her like an ocean wave, blinding her and deafening her. There was a dull roaring in her audios, and she was vaguely aware of someone crying out, over and over, she was somewhat conscious of the fact that someone was still touching her, of the pressure hitting her hips over and over, but mostly she just felt good. It was a wild, giddy feeling, overwhelming, and she allowed herself to ride it, ride it out…

Optimus groaned in ecstasy, optics flaring brightly at the sight of the tiny femme clutching him, writhing helplessly and sobbing as she overloaded in his arms. No sooner had her climax ended than he rolled her onto her front, grasping her thighs and renewing his efforts with more vigor than before, pushing into her unbearably tight, hot port from behind, grinding his hips against her cute aft, fingers clenching and caressing her smooth thighs.

Elita's hands were between them, caressing Optimus's rod as he pulled out and her nimble fingers touching Nightshade's external node and the rims of her port between wild thrusts. Smirking, watching as Optimus's optics brightened and his body stiffened with impending overload, Elita took one of his hands and placed it between her own legs, easing his fingers up into her port, letting him feel her, touch her…

Optimus came with an explosive roar, entire body arching forward, pushing his hips into his new lover as his fully erect rod spewed round after round of transfluid into her sopping port. Barely recovered from her last orgasm, Nightshade keened and sobbed quietly as she came again, Elita's fingers still on her node, Optimus's rod in her port and his hand on her thigh.

"Optimus," Elita gasped breathily, optics flaring as his fingers twitched and stroked the inner walls of her port. Having released his load, he pulled out (somewhat reluctantly) from the delirious Nightshade and pulled Elita into him, rubbing his thumb over her external node while the fingers of the same hand worked her port. She came mere moments later, milking his hand and climaxing with soft cries, smothered when he took her jaw in his free hand and kissed her passionately, their glossa intertwining between lip locks, mouths open and kissing with fervor.

The passion was slow to ebb, leaving all three bots exhausted, vents steaming faintly, intakes heaving. Optimus flopped onto his back, Elita following him down to rest on his chest. Bodies spooned intimately together, they kissed for a time, touching one another, whispered sweet nothings passing between them between soft kisses, and they were so immersed in one another that neither even remembered Nightshade until she began to stir, and her very wet port abruptly came into contact with Optimus's foot.

"Oh!" He sat up with a yelp, dislodging Elita and brushing his foot up against Night's port, pulling forth a groan from the little femme. "I'm sorry, Nigthshade, so sorry…are you alright, love?"

"Fine," she mumbled, a dreamy smile flitting across her face as he lifted her into his lap. "Wonderful, really. Optimus, that was incredible, that was fantastic…"

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he chuckled weakly, smiling when Elita scooted up behind him to wrap her arms around his shoulders, resting her head on the back of his. "You are a delight, Nigthshade."

She grinned blearily, optics dimming, and scarcely a moment later she was drifting off into recharge, sagging against his chest as he carefully climbed off the berth to situate her upon it properly. He and Elita took a seat at the end, watching their new conquest—er, partner—recharge soundly, lost in post-overload bliss.

"Three times," Elita commented, reaching over to lovingly pat Optimus's limp interface. "Not bad at all, Commander."

"I'm getting old," he chuckled. "We went five times once, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," she laughed, nuzzling her noseplates against his cheek. "I've never heard a 'flower' scream so loud. You really worked her over."

"Uh huh, he did, we heard it."

Both commanders snapped their heads around, and Optimus groaned in mortification at the sight of all four of his remaining femmes crowded around the door. "How long have you all been there?"

"Just for the part where you took her from behind. Good one," Chromia said appreciatively, giving him a hearty thumbs-up. Optimus groaned, dropping his head into his hands, only to jump back up with a yelp when four extra femmes abruptly joined him on the berth, small, nimble hands sneaking onto his exhausted body.

"Hope you're still good, Optimus, because it's our turn now," Chromia said, grinning.

* * *

"Oh, for the love of _Primus_," Ratchet moaned, rolling onto his side and pulling a cushion against his audios when the distinct _thump, thump_s began once more from the room upstairs. "This is ridiculous. There should be protocols against this sort of thing."

"There are cultural protocols _supporting_ this kind of thing," Ironhide noted, slipping one hand between Ratchet's thighs and wrapping his fingers around the large, warm rod that had been exposed several breems ago. He'd been working on his mech lover all night, and Ratchet still hadn't shown even the slightest interest, despite the obvious turn on that was the knowledge of a six femme-one mech orgy going on upstairs. "Come on, Ratch, work with me."

"I'm forced to _work with you_ for joors and joors every day," Ratchet grumped irritably. "My job description does not include—"

"Being my bitch?"

"Shut _up_." Ratchet inhaled sharply when one large black hand adjusted his leg, and a thick, throbbing rod was pushed into his rear port. "Slowly, you idiot, that hurts!"

"You like it," Ironhide chuckled, pumping is hips lewdly into Ratchet's aft, licking the side of the medic's neck. Ratchet moaned, wiggling his hips, optics flaring at the erotic touch. "Frag that. You _love_ it. Prime doesn't know what he's missing."

"Rather have six femmes on me than one of you," Ratchet growled. Ironhide's only response was to frag him harder, both adding their own carnal cries to the symphony above.


	2. The Phoenix

**Le Second Chapter?**

_Plenoptic_

**This one is for Phoenix. I promised her a surprise. And I shall deliver. :D**

* * *

The knocking at the door that morning was not at all welcome, nor was it in any way expected. There was a policy in the Autobot base, an unspoken protocol that stated that Prime's quarters were absolutely off-limits to visitors at any hour of the day or night. His personal quarters were his sanctuary, his home within a home, where he relaxed and rested and indulged his every whim and desire. Anyone who came knocking without a fragging _good_ reason would be greeted by a snarling, seething, and altogether very unforgiving mass of Autobot commander. His compassionate, gentle, patient demeanor went straight out the window—when he was in his rooms, with his femmes, he wanted to be left _alone_.

Growling darkly, Optimus Prime cracked one optic open, glaring vehemently in the direction from which the insistent—and increasingly _irritating_—noise originated. He pushed himself up on one arm, rubbing a hand over his face, tossing a glance at his chronometer. It wasn't terribly early, nearly his rising time, but he was annoyed nonetheless. The knocking picked up with a vigor, and with a long sigh, tenderly pulling the covers up over the bare body of his sleeping mate—Elita reflexively kicked him in the shin—Optimus resigned himself to answering the door.

None of his girls were up yet, much to his relief. For the three days since Nightshade had been 'deflowered,' as it were, Optimus Prime's quarters had been rocking with near constant interface, and he couldn't help but be immensely relieved that the femmes had finally worn themselves out. His poor rod had endurance like no other, but even it was getting tired of the abuse.

"For the love of _Primus_," he growled, jerking the door open with one mighty hand, "who the _frag_-?"

"Don't talk to me like that," his visitor snapped, and he blinked, shocked.

"…Erm. Phoenix?"

"Morning," she said, clasping her hands behind her back, smirking up at him prettily. "I figured it might finally be safe to come up. How's it going?"

"Ugh." He leant himself against the doorframe, shuttering his optics tiredly. "Please don't say 'come.' What are you doing here?"

"Magnus is out," she said simply, and he groaned loudly.

Phoenix was a unique case. She was technically Prime's, in that he'd been the one to take her innocence and was responsible for her safety and finances, but she refused to live with him, instead choosing to room—and bed—with his stoic City Commander, Ultra Magnus. Prime couldn't help but adore the femme. Incorrigibly snarky, wickedly creative, and cunningly beautiful, she came across as untamable, a fiery—well, a fiery phoenix. Wild, uninhibited, far too independent for any mech to capture. Optimus and Magnus knew better—it had taken vorns of whittling away at her defenses, but they'd managed to expose a happy, fun-loving little femme, endlessly witty and full of laughter. Magnus had fallen in love with her, and Optimus had given his blessing for her to stay with him, denying his own profound desire for the femme.

Luckily for him, Phoenix had a wicked threesome fetish.

Unluckily for him, Phoenix also knew that Optimus had a thing for her—which meant that if Magnus was gone and she was bored, it was Optimus's responsibility to see to her needs.

"Look, Phoenix, I'm exhausted," he explained, frowning when her lower lip trembled into a pout. "Come on. You know how it is when we get a new one."

"Seriously, Optimus? You're up here getting all you want and I haven't even been kissed in four days," she grumped, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm lonely."

Optimus flinched. Damn it all. He never could say no to an unhappy femme. Sighing heavily, he opened his arms and pulled Phoenix into his chest, smiling at the femme's delighted squeal and the arms that clasped around his hips.

"Optimus, kiss me," she requested happily, smiling up at him. He complied at once, bringing her close and meshing his lips with hers, loving the quick little glossa that flickered out to greet him.

"Eager today, aren't we," he murmured, nipping her lower lip before sucking it tenderly between his own. She mumbled softly in response, placing her hands on either side of his head and angling her mouth, devouring him happily. Personally she preferred Magnus over Optimus in bed, but no one beat her Prime in a kiss.

"Not here," he breathed softly, clasping a hand against her lower back when her fingers skittered over his chestplates. Pulling her along gently, he maneuvered them both inside his quarters, shutting the door, and then all at once Phoenix was in control, pushing him back until his legs hit the couch. He tumbled backwards, landing on the cushions back first, lips intertwined all the while with hers. His inner male rebelled unhappily at the treatment, and with some difficulty he managed to wrestle himself upright, holding Phoenix in his lap, her head just a smidgen above his own. She broke the kiss with a soft squeal of surprise when his fingers brushed her panel questioningly.

"Switching it up today?" she inquired, quirking a cute grin down at him. "I didn't think you know how to do anything besides missionary, big bot."

"Hush," he growled, capturing her mouth with his once more, removing her armor with expert ease. There was nothing more tantalizing, fragile, and beautiful than a female in protoform, with all sensitive circuits bare and exposed, waiting for a male's touch. He pulled her in close, and she draped her arms over his shoulders, clutching his back armor tightly and whimpering when he lifted his hips, pushing his length into her to the hilt.

"_Aah_—Optimus…!"

"Okay?" he panted, placing a hand on her aft and the other on her thigh for leverage, shuttering his optics tightly and resisting the urge to pound into her. They hadn't been together for a while—her port wasn't accustomed to his rod anymore.

"_Mmm_—yeah—I'm good," she replied, reaching one arm underneath his to clasp her hands together against his middle back, holding onto him tightly. Primus, the mech felt good, his strong, toned body practically rippling beneath her own curvy frame. "Go for it."

He couldn't string together the words to agree, nearly incoherent with lust. Warm lips gently traced her neck, his denta bit into her shoulder, drawing a small, needy gasp from the femme, and then he was moving, lifting his hips up into her with swift, even motions, bringing them together as intimately as possible.

Their coupling was divine. Phoenix had forgotten how _big_ her Prime was, thick and long from root to tip, filling her almost to the point of pain. He kept his face pressed against her warm metallic skin, sucking on sensitive wires, optics shuttered and hands grasping her tightly with each plunge into her slick warmth. Exhaustion be damned, he fragging loved femmes-and he loved fragging femmes.

Phoenix cried out loudly as her lower muscular cables began to shudder into contractions, leaving her panting and cresting fast, moaning with each stroke.

"Optimus," she pled helplessly, tightening her walls around him and milking his rod each time he pulled out. "Optimus. _Optimus_. More…."

Chestplates heaving, body dangerously close to overload, he angled his hips forward, and she cried out desperately when he pushed into her hard, the base of his rod stimulating her external node. Panting, she pushed herself up against his chest and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him heatedly, moaning when their glossae intertwined.

The only warning Optimus got was a flash of red and blue in his peripheral vision, and suddenly his partner was gone, leaving his rod straining in the open air. Gasping, vents heaving from the kiss and vision near white with overheat, Optimus looked up. Ultra Magnus towered over him, a whining, writhing Phoenix clasped tightly in his arms.

"Welcome home?" Optimus managed weakly. Magnus arched one optic ridge, unimpressed, and motioned with one wide hand. Optimus reluctantly scooted to the left, and Magnus dumped his royally gorgeous aft into the vacated seat on the couch, setting his panting femme in his lap and promptly thrusting up into her.

"What the hell, Magnus," Phoenix moaned out, voice hitching with every thrust. "Not cool."

"Hush, femme," he ordered quietly, arms wrapping around her with infinite tenderness as he pulled her mouth to his. Phoenix transitioned easily from interfacing to love making, returning her lover's gentle caresses and soft whispers. She overloaded with a soft, sweet moan, clutching her mate tightly. Magnus released a soft, desperate growl, adjusting his angle and pistoning his hips into hers, pace becoming harder and wilder now that she had been satisfied. Optimus watched silently, optics darkening when his best friend climaxed, clutching his little femme close and letting loose a guttural cry.

The couple was still for several moments, intakes struggling to bring their temperatures back down to safe levels. Phoenix released a shaky laugh, lifting her head off her mate's shoulder to grin up at her handsome mech.

"What are you doing back early, sweetie?" she purred, mouthing softly against his throat. "I wasn't expecting you home for another two days at least."

"I abused my authority and delegated some duties off," he explained quietly, shuttering his optics in delight at her attention. "I wanted to see you." Cracking an optic open, he smirked over at Optimus, sprawled uncomfortably on the couch with a very insistent Little Prime stationed at attention between his thighs. "Can't leave you two alone for more than a few days before you both get frisky, it seems."

"That was unnecessary," Optimus growled irritably. If there was anything he disliked more than being disturbed at home, it was being interrupted in the middle of interface. It was practically a violation of the "mech code," regardless of who Phoenix belonged to.

"Oh, stop whining," Magnus sighed, gently lifting his femme off of his frame to get on his knees on the floor. "Face me."

"Why?" Optimus asked suspiciously.

"Prime, turn around," Magnus ordered testily, and with reluctance Optimus maneuvered on the couch to face his best friend, wincing uncomfortably when his rod bobbed with the movement. Magnus was quiet for a moment, contemplating the image before him—and then leaned in, taking Optimus's entire erection in his mouth without a word of warning. Phoenix laughed loudly; Optimus's optics widened to comical proportions, his hips lifting up into Magnus's sinfully talented mouth.

"What—_ohh_—Magnus-! Don't…s-stop…."

He groaned loudly, shuttering his optics tightly. It had been a long time since they'd done this—Magnus usually wasn't so keen to have a mech's rod in his mouth. All inhibitions had obviously been cast aside—he was throat-deep in Optimus Prime and sucking and licking his best friend's erection.

"Don't stop…" Optimus pled softly, one hand cupping Magnus's helm. "M-Magnus…"

Magnus hummed softly, shuttering his optics, delighting in Optimus's sinfully erotic moans. The rod in his mouth hardened, the hand against his helm clenched, and Optimus finally went over the edge, climaxing powerfully inside his best friend's mouth. Magnus couldn't help but online his optics, greedily drinking in the sight before him—the Prime straining in overload, back impossibly arched, mouth open in wordless exclamations of ecstasy, brought to the greatest heights of pleasure by the being he trusted more than any other in the universe.

Swallowing gently, Magnus extracted Optimus's rod from his throat, licking him lightly until he softened. Groaning, Optimus forced himself to sit upright, pulling a surprised Magnus against his chest in an awkward hug.

"Remind me again why I don't just bond with you?" he mumbled drowsily, and even Magnus couldn't help but to crack a grin at that.

* * *

**There will be more with Phoenix and Magnus in later chapters. Just taking them for a quick spin to give the other femmes time to recuperate :3 Just a quick little...quickie...to tide y'all over until I can come up with something substantial. ...And containing a plot.**


	3. The Warlord

**[Deviation]**

**The following chapter is for (anonymously named) TF Fangirl, who left this lovely little review to greet me in my inbox. Imagine my joy upon finding THIS waiting for me at home:**

**"I just want to say I am dissapointed. I mean SERIOUSLY! You were doing so  
good! But then you had to wreck everything by puting Optimus in Yaoi. Do you  
all have any idea how down right insulting that is? Not just to people like me  
but to Optimus himself. Well this disapointing chapter aside, the first half  
was good."**

**This chapter is for you, sweetie. Kiss my ass :D**

* * *

"_Megatron_."

The Cybertronian warlord shuttered his optics, every system running painfully hot at the soft, keening cries echoing from the smaller mech pinned beneath his immense mass. Optimus moaned into his lover's attentive audio, hands gripping Megatron's aft in a death grip, urging him on, wet glossa leaving intimate maps upon the other mech's throat.

"Megatron," he pled desperately, tipping his head back and uttering a soft cry when Megatron's denta clamped down on the side of his neck, devouring him with a hunger that was positively bestial. "Please…"

"_My _Prime," Megatron crooned, planting a warm kiss against the nape of Optimus's neck. "So good…"

He punctuated his words with a sharp undulation of his hips, plunging his length back inside the other mech's valve, forcing a delicious stretch that left the Prime panting in exquisite pain and pleasure.

"Can you imagine if they saw you like this?" Megatron breathed, hitching one of Prime's long legs over his shoulder, folding the other mech over double and forcing his spike deeper inside the desperately clenching valve. "Your officers, the High Councilors, the ignorant masses who look at you with such adoration…can you _imagine_ if they saw the way I take you every night?"

Optimus trembled, tossing his head back and forth, slick heat exploding within him as his overload began to build. Megatron drew his lover closer, pressing their mouths together in a hot, intimate kiss, glossae entangling, wet gasps escaping their lips between frantic kisses.

"Megatron," Optimus purred, breaking free to mouth the underside of his lover's jaw. "I love the way you take me…"

Cybertron's High Protectorate positively snarled, meshing their lips together in a fiery dance of denta and glossa as his overload finally rocked through him, filling his keening lover with transfluid, sending Optimus over the edge into bliss. Hot, heavy bodies writhed and contorting, twisting together in feral intimacy, muscle cables straining and vents roaring to bring down skyrocketing core temperatures.

Outside, Starscream and Mirage, standing guard by the door, exchanged long-suffering glances as the impassioned cries from within reached their audios. As they always did, they faced forward once more, pretending (with no small amount of difficulty) that they hadn't heard a thing.

"How is one never enough for you?" Optimus asked with a sigh, having been thrown onto his front and his aft forced up into the air, arching his back and groaning as Megatron penetrated his sensitive port once more with a wet squelch of lubricant. The movement was easy and smooth, and all of Optimus's protests died at the wonderful, slick friction. He hung his head down against the berth, listening to Megatron's soft grunts upon each deep thrust. The movement began to slow, each penetration becoming longer and deeper.

"What are you doing?" the Prime murmured, turning his head against the cushions to peer at his immense lover of his shoulder. Megatron bent his upper body over Prime's prone form, gently biting the back of his neck, marking the other mech as his own.

"Making love to you," he breathed, wrapping his hands around the Prime's waist to get enough leverage to deepen each plunge. Optimus inhaled sharply as the angle changed, clenching his valve tightly and pushing back against his lover, spark warming when Megatron's fingers wandered gently over his chassis.

"Tell me you love me," he requested softly, shuttering his optics.

Megatron drew closer, lowering his mouth to the other's audio, whispering, "_I love you_."

Optimus smiled, and overload clutched him with a gentle, delicious burn, building until soft sobs escaped his vocalizer. Megatron came with a sharp cry, wrapping one hand around Prime's thigh and an arm around his waist, pulling their meshed bodies as close as possible, optics shuttering and mouth falling open in choked bliss as his hips worked out the full extent of his overload.

Optimus fell lax against the berth, optics shuttered and vents heaving softly, smiling and lifting a hand to stroke the helm that fell against his shoulder as Megatron collapsed on top of him. Arms entwined weakly around the Prime's waist, soft kisses falling against the back of his neck and shoulder. With a grunt Optimus rolled over, pushing his lover onto his back and climbing onto his front, leaving lingering kisses upon Megatron's mouth and throat.

"Say it again."

"It again."

Optimus scowled, planting a hand on his lover's chest in a firm slap, growling softly and leaning in to bite Megatron's throat. "Not _that_, you fool."

Megatron grinned wickedly, lifting his hips and throwing his lover over, trapping the startled Prime beneath his immense mass and crushing their mouths together with a ferocity that no femme would ever be able to provide. He gripped Optimus's helm, tipping his head back, devouring him, ravishing him. He only parted their lips long enough to croon roughly, tenderly, into the Prime's audio:

"I love you."

* * *

**Haters gonna hate, kids :) Don't take the low road. Just write more gratuitous slash and be done with it.**


	4. The Empress

**Not So Innocent—Reverse**

_Plenoptic_

**Some idiot keeps sending me flamer reviews (in poetic verse, nonetheless), so obviously I have no choice but to continue posting M rated slash/yaoi. Complain all you want, but you forced me into this.**

**And to those kind and wonderful reviewers, a little advise for life: Please, always be open-minded and accepting of anyone who's different from you, no matter their race or ethnicity or gender identity or sexual orientation. We all came from the same genetic bottleneck, and like it or not, we're all connected on this one planet of ours. Don't ever feel hate, even for those who are cruel to you, and always be understanding and compassionate. Having read each and every loving word ever sent my way, I know you all to be very kind and considerate people. Please continue to be like that. **

**And now, poetry! By said flamer, Gruntildaisawesome.**

**PS-I don't like rape. However, I don't understand how mech-mech action counts as rape. Maybe her syllable count was just off?**

**"A fact it is not, you're quite misled.  
Do you understand a word that's been said?  
Many people read stories before a review.  
So flames will still be coming to you.  
Besides it's fair to let the girls know  
before they view a terrible show.  
After all, if you think rape is hot,  
then my dear you should be shot."**

**This chapter is for you, sweetums! Enjoy the slash!**

* * *

Elita One groaned softly, lifting a hand to rub her noseplates, surprised at finding them a bit tender—though that wasn't surprising, considering she'd just spent the night with her face pressed firmly into a warm male chest. Lifting her head, a grin split her faceplates at the sight that greeted her. Optimus Prime and Ironhide were splayed out on her berth, both deep in recharge, limbs stretched every which way and hands clinging to her curvy form.

The Cybertronian Empress sat up, cooing softly and stroking Optimus's faceplates when he grumbled and tried to tighten the arm around her waist. Ironhide cracked one optic open, boldly caressing her aft as she slid past him.

"Good morning to you, too," she snorted, looking over her shoulder and arching an optic ridge down at him. He merely grunted in reply, lifting his stocky body to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest and pressing his mouth firmly to the small of her back.

"Ya look so damn good crawlin' outta mah bed," he crooned roughly, nuzzling his face against her warm protoform. Growling, she slapped the hands around her waist, wriggling out of his grasp.

"_My_ bed," she corrected him cheekily, patting his cheekplates when he pouted at her. "Be a dear and wake the others while I go wash up, will you?"

"Ya want some help?" he inquired, waggling his optic ridges at her suggestively.

"Suppose I do," she said thoughtfully, then bypassed him completely to crawl back over the berth and leaning over the remaining male. Lowering her head, she latched her mouthplates around Optimus's throat, suckling and biting him gently until he jerked awake.

"I'm up, milady," he ground out, tipping his head back and gasping thickly at her ministrations. "Though I can't tell you how much I appreciate this…"

"Fantastic. You can pay me back with a wash," Elita replied, bracing herself above him and stealing a quick, smoldering kiss from his delicious mouth before hopping off the berth and striding lightly into her private washracks.

"Best get goin'," Ironhide laughed, swatting Optimus on the aft as he left to awaken their other comrades. Optimus obediently trotted after his mistress into the washracks, body growing hot at the sight of her already lathered up and standing under the flow of the solvent.

"Well?" she inquired, grinning at him smugly, proudly displaying her unarmored form. "Get to work, big mech."

Optimus's optics narrowed, and he considered her for a moment before stepping into the racks, striding up to her and drawing her body firmly to his. She inhaled sharply when his stiff interface rod rubbed at her lower belly, shuddering delicately as his hands dropped to rub gently at her thighs, washing away the evidence of his and Ironhide's incursions into her delicious body the night before.

"You two were good last night," she said breathlessly, shuttering her optics as two naughty fingers pressed up into her well-stretched valve.

"I'm glad," he rumbled, dipping his head to lave his glossa over her throat. "We live to please you, milady."

She wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, spreading her thighs around his hips, quiet gasps turning to short cries as his talented fingers brought her closer and closer to overload. His mouth continued to play at her neck, denta biting sensually before his glossa soothed away the sting. With one hard cry she came, a rush of lubricant coating his fingers. Holding her against him, Optimus dropped his hand to his own spike, shuttering his optics in sheer pleasure as she ground against him.

"Take me," she pled softly against his neckplates, and without hesitation he pushed her up against the wall, the solvent raining down on their slick bodies and aiding his plunge into her wet port. He snarled softly, hoisting her legs around his hips and pinning her with his mass. He pushed in and out of her with hard, shaky thrusts, mad with lust and enchanted by the small mouth teasing his sensitive wiring.

He came with a deep, masculine groan, spike erupting into harsh spurts of transfluid as her walls clamped down on him again, shaky cries leaving her vocalizer as she clung to him. Fingers trembling ever so slightly, she took his jaw in one hand and brought his slack mouthplates to hers, moaning into his passionate kiss.

"Are you satisfied, milady?" he asked quietly, optics burning down at her as they parted, gently removing his interface from her sodden port. She inhaled softly, arching her back and shuttering her optics as he pulled out of her, clenching around him on instinct. Engine purring softly, he knelt before her, spreading her thighs and covering her valve with his mouth.

"Ah! Optimus," she gasped, placing her hands on his head and tipping her helm back against the wall. Her sensitivity faded quickly, and she marveled at how fast the sweet burn returned to her lower body. Optimus's glossa felt impossibly good inside her port, caressing her in the most intimate of ways. Squeals and moans escaped her unbidden, and she positively sobbed when he caught her external node in his lips.

Optics clouded with lust, she looked down at him, the eroticism of the sight prompting another thick gush of lubricant from her port. He licked it all away before continuing, bent on bringing his mistress to climax for a third time. Elita had proven herself to be nearly insatiable, and her males delighted in bringing her to pleasure anyway they could.

Large hand supporting her with endless tenderness, Optimus gently lowered her to the ground, seating her on her aft before burying his face into her intimacy once more, inhaling the heady scent of her arousal. His glossa darted out, tracing the rim of her port before dipping in.

"Frag, _frag_," she swore, hard pressed to keep her legs open and not clamp her thighs around his head. "Optimus…"

"Tell me how it feels," he breathed, lips moving against her intimacy.

She sobbed softly, shifting her hips closer to him. "Good," she whimpered desperately. "So good, Optimus…"

He laved his glossa against her valve and node, shuddering at his core when she began to pant, chanting his name quietly. His glossa in her port once more was too much, and she came for the third time that morning, crying out sharply when he slung her legs over his shoulders to get a better angle at her valve. He lapped up the sweet nectar between her legs before lifting his head, smiling smugly at the satiated femme.

"There's a good reason you're my favorite," she laughed quietly, reaching out to lovingly trace his handsome faceplates. "Thank you, Optimus."

"I live to please you, milady," he repeated, clasping her around the waist to help her to her feet. Without a word of direction he removed a soft cloth from subspace and set about cleaning her off, meticulously rubbing at the sensitive wiring of her protoform. She tended to him as well, unable to keep from lazily stroking his semi-hard spike until he overloaded again.

They emerged a full three breems later, fully armored and more or less sure they'd managed to clean away all obvious evidence of their activities. The common living area was already bustling with activity: Ironhide had his weaponry scattered all over the table while he washed each individual part almost lovingly; Ratchet was berating Sideswipe for something or other while Sunstreaker preened and waxed on the couch; Jetfire was on his comm. link, one hand over his other audio to block out the racket his fellows were making; Ultra Magnus and Rodimus Prime had taken occupancy of the only free couch and were talking light-heartedly, Rodimus gesturing wildly every so often.

Elita paused in the doorway, leaning against the wall and admiring her harem. Being Empress had its perks, and this definitely topped the list. Being able to pick and choose any male she wanted in her bed at any given time was every femme's dream, and Elita could not only do that but had them practically begging to be her partner.

Optimus left her side to join his comrades, grinning and laughing when they clapped him on the shoulder, greeting him heartily. His position as Elita's favorite earned him no small amount of respect from his fellow mechs.

"Morning, milady," Rodimus greeted her with a purr when she joined he and Ultra Magnus on the couch. Magnus was much more cordial, welcoming her with a gentle kiss to her cheekplate. She petted his strong thigh appreciatively before turning to regard Rodimus with an arched optic ridge.

"Good morning to you too, Rodimus," she replied coolly, and his grin faltered a bit. His looks had earned him a place in Elita's harem, but very few times had it gotten him into her berth. He'd proven himself to be a bit too egotistical for her tastes, and she was far more experienced intimately. She'd found him a little clumsy and too hasty to suit her needs when they interfaced, and she knew he must be feeling neglected by now. Like a kicked technopuppy. She smiled a little at that thought. "What were you up to last night? It was a little loud down at your end."

"Roddy and me had ourselves a little private party," Jetfire drawled, leaning over the back of the couch and smirking, pinching Rodimus's cheekplate. Rodimus growled and slapped him away; last thing he needed Elita to know was that he'd willingly sucked on Jetfire's spike the night before. Or that they'd interfaced violently for several breems afterwards. And some more after that.

"Go easy on the young ones, Jet," Optimus advised, joining them on the couch, settling down next to Ultra Magnus, who snorted at his comment. When Elita had first requested that Optimus join her harem, it had been Ultra Magnus and Ironhide who had introduced him to the headier side of interfacing, having Ratchet retrofit him with a temporary port and showing him what exactly he needed to do to please a femme. Optimus had been sore and tired for days afterwards, but to their credit, he had more than proved himself in bed.

Elita rolled her optics, a little uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. She knew very well that one femme wasn't enough to satiate so many mechs, but she still didn't really want to know what they did to take care of their needs. She didn't allow them to bed other femmes—it would cause countless problems if one of her mechs impregnated some random femme.

"Optimus," she murmured, placing a small hand on his knee and leaning close to him. He turned his head to her, shuttering his optics when she pressed her face to the side of his neck, kissing the junction of his jaw.

"Milady?"

"What would you say to you and Sunstreaker tonight?"

He arched an optic ridge, opening his optics to look down at her. "That's an unusual choice. I didn't think you were fond of Sunstreaker's technique."

"He's a little wild," she acquiesced. "That's why I'd like you to be there…show him how it's done?"

Optimus dipped his head. "Of course, milady. If that's what you'd like."

"It is." Smiling, she leaned closer, hooking a finger under his chin and guiding his mouth to hers. "I just can't seem to get enough of you."

He rumbled softly, opening his mouth obligingly and kissing her intimately. She was just beginning to enjoy the swirl of his glossa when the bell to her door chimed lightly. Hushing her protests, Optimus parted his mouth from hers and rose to his feet, disappearing into the small entrance hall to get the door. Elita pouted, punching Magnus's shoulder when he laughed at her.

A resounding _crash_ from the entrance hall got the attention of every mech in the room. The sounds of a scuffle prompted Ironhide and Ratchet to pick up their firearms, crowding by the doorway and peeking in cautiously.

"False alarm," Ironhide chuckled, beckoning Elita over with warm optics. She strode to meet them, curious, and squealed at the sight that greeted her.

Optimus was pinned to the ground beneath a larger mech, looking both disgruntled and pleased. The mech straddling him was none other than Megatron, his handsome grin fiendish as he looked down at his twin and longtime lover.

"You yield?" he purred.

"No," Optimus growled at him.

Megatron smirked and ground his groin against his brother's, delighting in Optimus's moan at the raw contact. "How about now?"

"Let him up, Megatron," Elita scolded good-naturedly, beaming when Megatron's head snapped up at the sound of her voice. He clambered off of Optimus, moving past Ratchet and Ironhide to pull his Empress into his arms, showering her faceplates with kisses before pulling her mouth firmly against his own.

"I missed you terribly, milady," he said sweetly when they parted, running his blunt fingertips down the side of her face.

"I missed you as well," she murmured, kissing his chin gently. "It seems you've been gone forever."

"Not long enough, if you ask me," Rodimus drawled from the couch. The others guffawed, and Megatron lifted an optic ridge.

"Is that so, Roddy? Needed more time to learn how to properly satisfy her ladyship in bed?"

Rodimus's faceplates darkened with embarrassment, a growl escaping him while the others laughed. Elita decided to intervene before her males got too rowdy, taking Megatron's hand and tugging him toward her room.

"Come on, Megatron, tell me how you've been. Optimus, you come too."

The twins could only oblige her, making playful swipes at one another as they followed her back into the residential area. Both were surprised when she surpassed her berthroom, smiling and taking them both by the hands, leading them into the little used room at the end of the hallway. Optimus's optics darkened with lust, though Megatron appeared confused.

"We added it since you've been away," Elita explained, keying in her personal code and stepping back to admit them when the doors opened. "Our rooms were starting to reek of ozone, if you know what I mean."

"I see," Megatron replied, his intakes clicking into slightly higher gear as he looked around the room. In its center was an immense circular berth, decorated with soft blankets and large cushions and draped with nearly transparent silks that hung from the ceiling. Small candles were littered across the floor, kept artificially lit by an electric conduit beneath the floor. There was a shelf in the far left corner, full of datapads and holocubes and several boxes. Megatron approached it and lifted a box gingerly, removing the lid to peer inside. He wasn't at all surprised to see a very scandalous looking interface toy within.

"And the purpose of this room would be for…?"

"Interfacing, of course," she purred, placing a hand on his wrist and turning him to face her, appraising the boyishly handsome faceplates and deep blue optics. "Love-making, more specifically. Sometimes I want something a little more special, you know?"

"Who has had the honor of joining you here?"

"Just me," Optimus answered smugly, wrapping both arms around Elita's waist from behind and pulling her into him, purring into her audio when she squealed in delight. His gaze lifted to meet his brother's, full of challenge. "And now you, it would seem."

"So it would," Megatron replied silkily, optics narrowing. _Challenge received, brother. _He extended a hand to Elita, a little put off when she looked sheepish.

"I've overloaded three times this morning," she admitted shyly, patting the large blue hands resting on her abdomen, "thanks to this lug here. Maybe you two could entertain yourselves to get me back in the mood?"

Megatron arched an optic ridge and looked at Optimus questioning. Optimus met his gaze steadily, transmitting to him over their sibling bond.

_I'm up for it. _Optimus shifted his weight a little, suddenly looking shy. _It's been a long time since you took me…_

Megatron barely suppressed a shudder, optics shamelessly roving over the body of the only mech he'd ever wanted. _You look good, Optimus. What do you have these days?_

_Ironhide and Ratchet wanted to play around a few orns ago, so I've got a temp port. Feels a little tight for my liking. _He flashed his twin a smile, and Megatron nodding, looking down at Elita.

"Alright. Please make yourself comfortable, milady." Elita nodded eagerly, slipping out of Optimus's arms to seat herself comfortably on the love seat directly across from the berth. Megatron looked back at his twin, stepping closer and running his fingers down Optimus's arm. The Prime's lips parted, optics darkening. The sweetest of moans escaped him as Megatron closed the distance between them, kissing his brother with a harsh lust.

"On the berth," he demanded huskily. Optimus complied, stretching himself out on his back and removing his crotchplate, shuddering when cool air met with already sensitive circuitry. Meanwhile, Megatron turned back to the shelf, pursing his lips as he began to hunt through boxes. He wanted something that would make this particularly enjoyable for both of them.

He smirked when he made a good find, placing his treasure back within its box before carrying it and himself to the large berth. As aware as he was of Elita's optics on them, Megatron found that he had optics only for Optimus. Resting the box on the side of the berth, he eased himself on gently, kneeling near Optimus's legs, regarding his twin with open, raging lust.

Optimus shifted to lean up against the cushions as Megatron approached, opening his legs and groaning when Megatron swiftly moved a knee between the heated thighs. Megatron examined his brother carefully, trailing his fingertips over the softly swollen lips to the sensitive chest, already practically moving like a bellows with anticipation for their joining. Megatron's gaze heated as he turned it further and further downward. Optimus had left his spike retracted and covered, leaving only the temp port bare for his brother to use freely.

"Looks tight," Megatron commented, lowering one hand to his brother's intimacy. Optimus inhaled sharply, lifting his hips happily up into that hot touch when Megatron's finger traced the rim of the port. "Thought Ironhide and Ratchet used it?"

"They were going to," Optimus drawled, tipping his head back as an excited ripple spread through him. "They got called off that afternoon, though. I thought I'd save it for you…"

Megatron growled softly, appreciating the sentiment. Temp ports were easily retrofitted but destructed easily, and were generally used by mech couples for special nights; Megatron doubted he'd be able to take Optimus more than two or three times, but it would be enough. They still had Elita to take care of, after all.

"Want to see how tight you really are?" Megatron purred, reaching for the box and removing the bottle within. Optimus took it from him, smiling as he read the label.

"Edible lubricant? Are you serious?"

"Completely. I've used it before. It's made from refined high grade. And the tingle…" he trailed off, admiring the lithe body spread beneath him as Optimus shivered.

"Get to work, then," Optimus replied, the request issuing past his lips like a whispered caress. Megatron dipped his head obligingly, uncapping the lube and spreading it liberally over his fingers. He allowed Optimus a taste before lowering his hand. Gently, aware of just how painful it could be for a new port to be invaded, he dipped his fingers past the rim, coating the immediate inner walls with the lubricant. Captured by a naughty idea, he removed his fingers and instead inserted the opening of the tube.

The Prime collapsed back against the berth, a soft keening noise escaping him as Megatron squeezed the contents of the tube directly into his port. "_Primus_…" He shuddered powerfully, hips writhing at the delicious tingle that erupted within his port. "That's good…"

"I'm glad." Megatron smiled, swirling the tip of the tube around his twin's port absently, spreading the lube around. "Tell me how it feels…"

"Like having your transfluid spill inside me," Optimus purred. Megatron released a low, predatory snarl, spreading Optimus's thighs and removing his crotchplate. His spike extended at full attention, swollen and hard. Optimus eyed it appreciatively, reaching forward to take it in his hand, giving his brother a few rough pulls and caresses before Megatron pushed him back onto the berth.

"Keep your legs open," he commanded breathily, settling onto his knees and gripping Optimus's hips. At his brother's nod, Megatron pulled the Prime's aft and hips into his lap, holding the arching body off the berth at an angle. Their port and spike were flush with one another, the sensitive equipment making brushing contact, igniting them both.

"Try it out," Optimus breathed, gyrating his hips toward his brother's hard spike. "Little warm-up…"

Megatron didn't respond, instead maneuvering Optimus's hips onto the spike waiting eagerly for their warm embrace. Slowly, he pushed into his twin, grunting at the tight fit, gripping Optimus's thighs to forcibly pull their groins flush together. Optimus began to cry out at once, his breathless sobs escalating until Megatron was fully seated within him. There was a soft squelching sound as Megatron situated himself, lubricant dribbling out from the junction of their bodies, coating the inside of Optimus's thighs.

"You always were a fantastic fuck," Megatron complimented his twin, rubbing Optimus's aft appreciatively. The temp port was far too tight to let him move yet, but it felt wonderful having that vice-like clamp down on his member.

"_Frag._ Primus. _Frag_," Optimus moaned, tossing his head back and forth against the cushions. Megatron's spike was impossibly heavy and dense within him, stretching his very core. Shocks of pleasure jolted through him as he began to clench his port walls against the pulsating member, wild pants tearing from his vocalizer as he all but pleasured himself on Megatron's spike.

"You'll make yourself come," Megatron chuckled, rubbing his brother's thighs gently. "Calm down…"

"Can't…feels good…" Optimus moaned out, tightening his thighs around Megatron's hips. "Please…_please_…"

"Make it last," Megatron crooned, ignoring his brother's whine of protest as he began to remove his spike, inching himself out of the impossibly tight port. His spike finally squeezed out with a gush of lubricants and a faint popping sound. Optimus's hips made a desperate jump into the air, craving something to move against, and the Prime sighed in delight when Megatron took pity on him and gently inserted a finger into the sodden port.

"Megatron," Optimus snarled, gripping his brother's shoulders, fingers leaving dents in the heavy armor.

"You'll snap in half if I go now," Megatron growled, dipping his head to plant a rough bite at the base of the Prime's throat. Nonetheless, he upped the movement of his finger within Optimus's port, adding a second when it stretched a little to accept the brisk invasion.

"You underestimate me chronically, brother," Optimus murmured, thrusting back against Megatron's hand.

"Only because you chronically fail to prove me wrong," Megatron breathed, his voice and lips silken against Prime's audio receptor. A third finger joined its comrades within Prime's port, and Optimus gasped as he felt the first shuddering waves of overload blossom deep within him. Megatron bit the underside of his brother's jaw, capturing Optimus's mouth with his own when the Prime tilted his chin back with a grunt.

They kissed fiercely, a heady reunion of glossa and denta between the occasional caress of lips. Optimus shuttered his optics, accepting the violence in that kiss, welcoming it, even. He could taste feral passion on Megatron's lips, desperate, wild want, but he willed himself to react in moderation. It wouldn't do to let Megatron know just how much his twin craved the ferocious dance of their mouths.

The softest of wanton moans escaped the Prime as he felt the head of Megatron's rod stretch his port, both pairs of hips shifting eagerly when the artificial lubricant reacted to the friction between them, igniting a sweet tingle at the intimate junction of their bodies.

"Tight," Megatron grunted, wrapping his arms around Optimus's waist. Optimus allowed himself to be pulled upright until he was all but seated in Megatron's lap, thighs draped over his brother's, their groins brought flush together. Megatron panted unsteadily, one hand gripping Optimus's hip while the other clutched his aft, lowering and raising his lover upon his stiff rod in careful, measured strokes. Optimus lost the will to aid in their love making, content to relax against Megatron's frame and enjoy the brisk, heady plunging of his rod.

"Help me out, you fragger," Megatron snarled, leaving a rough bite on Optimus's shoulder.

"Just a second," Optimus breathed, shuttering his optics tightly. "I can't…" He shuddered powerfully, body going taut with impending overload. Megatron made a low noise of acknowledgement, soothing the sting of his bite with his glossa, delighting in Optimus's breathy moans as he mouthed the sensitive circuitry of his lover's throat.

Optimus choked, his vocalizer shorting out, and Megatron grinned when he felt that tight port clamp down upon him. He deliberately slowed the pace of his hips, maneuvering Optimus's aft closer to him. He made the last strokes count, going as deep as he could, gyrating his hips gently into each thrust. He counted off one, two, three impossibly deep plunges before Optimus shuddered into climax, nearly soundless sobs escaping him as he arched and ground against his twin, scratching several long tracks of paint from Megatron's upper arms.

His overload had scarcely faded when Optimus pushed against his brother, forcing Megatron flat on his back, hissing when the still-stiff rod moved within his port.

"Optimus…" Megatron's growl led handsomely into a groan when Optimus began to move against him, running his hands over his twin's broad chestplates while moving his hips up and down, taking control of their love making.

"Hush," Optimus murmured, leaning down to leave a tender bite at Megatron's throat. He gripped his brother's chest, pinning him gently, bringing their hips flush with every thrust before withdrawing. The slick friction was other worldly, leaving both immense mechs panting. Optimus's thighs clenched around his brother's hips, bringing their bodies close, leaving no space between them.

"Kiss me," Megatron mumbled, one shaking hand lifting to grip Optimus's audio finial. "Optimus…"

The Prime complied at once, cupping Megatron's jaw before bringing their mouths together. They kissed gently this time, mating lips and glossa with real passion. Megatron released a soft, shuddering moan as he hit his overload at last, gripping his brother tightly and thrusting desperately into him, transfluid filling Optimus's port to full capacity before spilling out between their entwined bodies. Optimus broke their mouths apart reluctantly, idly kissing a path down Megatron's throat while his brother desperately cycled fresh air in and out of his vents to cool down.

"Well?" Prime murmured at length, impulsively licking the seam of Megatron's chestplate—oh, how he'd love to merge right now—before lifting his head, impossibly blue optics watching his twin quizzically.

"Fantastic," Megatron groaned, whining in disappointment when Optimus lifted his sodden port from the Protectorate's spike. "Frag you, Optimus. You're better every time."

"I think you're done fragging me for the time being," Optimus chuckled, laying one last touch to Megatron's mouth with his own before sitting up, grimacing when a mixture of lubricant and transfluid spilled from his port. "Frag. What a mess."

"Just cover it up," Megatron drawled, waving a hand dismissively, choosing to stay flat out on his back rather than attempt to get up, letting the last of his overload buzz through his circuits uninterrupted. "We have more important things to attend to."

Optimus got to his feet, the covering of his port sliding back into place with a soft _snick_. Rolling his shoulders and arching his back to shake out any tiring 'afterglow,' he turned on his heel, smirking handsomely at the femme on the couch opposite him. Forgotten while the brothers made love, Elita was watching her favorite mech with rapt optics, faceplates flushed darkly, temperatures running uncomfortably high for a femme who hadn't yet been touched by her male.

"Get over here," she said hoarsely, and Optimus complied at once, long legs carrying him in smooth strides to his mistress. He lifted her into his arms without a word, smiling when her mouth latched hungrily onto his neck, already marked by Megatron's demanding bites.

"Apologies, my lady, for leaving you unattended," he murmured, lowering her onto the berth and running the backs of his fingers down her stunning faceplate. Something impossibly warm erupted in his spark when she looked at him, plaintive and pleading, leaving him almost breathless at her beauty.

"Don't take her all for yourself, brother," Megatron growled, latching a hand around his twin's scruffbar and dragging the yelping Prime backwards. "I've just gotten back, remember?"

Optimus grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, watching jealously as Megatron situated himself over his mistress. She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to mesh their mouths together. Megatron kissed differently than Optimus, his kisses rough and deep as opposed to his brother's tender, light caresses. Elita, however, was hardly going to complain about the change of pace.

"Come here, Optimus," she murmured, breaking her mouth free of her lover's and reaching a hand out to her Prime. He hesitated before accepting it, allowing himself to be pulled against the two bots he loved more than anything else in the universe.

* * *

**I love vaguely incestuous mech-mech action. **

**If you want more slash, be a flamer. I'll be forced to pee on you to put you out, but it'll get me writing!**

**If you want more in general, leave a nice review for Plenoptic :D**


	5. The Medic

**Le Chapter THREE?**

_Plenoptic_

**OH GOD. LOOK WHAT I FOUND ON MY COMPUTER. Here, you guys can have it.**

**I wish I didn't have to take responsibility for writing this. Really, I do. But Primus almighty, is it good XD Please don't report me? Here, I'll put warnings!**

**WARNING: GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE OFFENDED EASILY. OR UNDER EIGHTEEN. MOSTLY THE UNDER EIGHTEEN BIT? OH, AND ALSO GRAPHIC SLASH, OPTIMUSxIRONHIDE.**

**There.**

**And the little misalignment in the song lyrics is intentional, don't tell me to go learn how to use Microsoft Word, I GOT IT.**

**Nightshade ISN'T MINE. She belongs to LeggyPoo. And to Optimus. And to Ratchet. But mostly to LeggyPoo. Go read "When In Doubt." It's transcendant. TRANSCENDANT I SAY.**

* * *

_Wake up, wake up,_

_Dreaming,_

_And lie here with me…_

_Here we go,_

_Just lose control and let your body give in_

_To the beat of your heart_

_As my hand touches your skin_

_Is this love?_

_Or just sexual desire?_

_We're gonna start a fire…_

_-Ryan Star_

Optimus Prime was injured.

It was inevitable—in war, soldiers got hurt. It never occurred to the masses that _gods_ could be hurt as well, but it was a sad truth. The news was met in Prime's quarters with mixed reactions: Nightshade and Arcee immediately panicked; Chromia sighed; Firestar and Moonracer simply looked shocked; Elita placed her head in her hands and spent a long few moments in silence.

The Autobot and Decepticon forces—the Autobots joined, as always, by the loyal human members of NEST—met in Sudan, colliding with deadly force that rendered Sunstreaker and Sideswipe nearly in stasis lock and Optimus Prime barely able to stand. There had been no time to get him back to base in America; Ultra Magnus and Ironhide had borne their fallen leader gently to Ratchet's field tent, and the medic had been forced to operate right then and there.

"ETA is about two hours," the recently arrived Rodimus Prime explained gently to Optimus's devastated femmes. "Ratchet is pretty sure he'll hang in there. The Matrix power integrated into his systems saved him. "He'll be in med bay for a while recuperating, but he _should_ pull through. So cheer up, hm?" he added hopefully, patting a tearful Arcee on the cheek. "No reason to cry, 'kay?"

"Rodimus is right," Elita said decidedly, lifting her head and getting to her feet. "The last thing Optimus needs is to come home to a bunch of sniveling femmes."

In the end, Elita was right. Optimus was airlifted back into base unconscious from energon loss, marred by severe burns and lacerations. Ironically, the other femmes, strengthened by Elita's words, held it together—it was Elita who dissolved into sniffles when Optimus groggily awoke and softly requested another shot of pain meds.

Nightshade couldn't help but smile, watching the two of them. Elita was hiccupping quietly, clutching the hand her immense sparkmate cradled lovingly to her face to soothe her fears. Optimus was smiling, albeit weakly, and laughed lightly when Elita dumped her head onto his chest and began to cry loudly.

"I-I'm d-d-_done_ with this. R-Really. I c-can't h-h-handle the stress," she muttered irritably, lifting her head and wiping a hand over her optics.

"I love you too."

"Sh-shut up! Go to s-sleep."

"Awake now?" Ratchet asked briskly, entering the room and standing just inside the doorway, thighs spread wide, hands on his hips. "Prime. What have I told you about rushing blindly into life-or-death situations without thinking about your own well-being?"

"Erm…don't?"

"And what do you turn around and do?"

"Rush—"

"_Rush_ into _life-or-death_ situations without _once_ thinking about your own _well-being_," Ratchet finished, his last word trailing off into a dangerous snarl. "If those Decepticons don't kill you, I will."

"I appreciate your concern, Ratchet," Optimus sighed, laying his head back and shuttering his optics while his CMO examined the patch jobs on his wounds.

"Prognosis?" Elita inquired, arching an optic ridge when Ratchet straightened and shook his head irritably.

"Bed rest. _Strict_ bed rest. For as long as I deem fit. That means no marching off into battle, no tussling in the sparring ring, no sneaking out in the middle of the night for patrol, no running around base to do errands, no interface—by which I mean you aren't allowed to overload _at all_. In fact, you're not allowed to leave your berth. Ever. Until I say otherwise."

"I've got it, Ratchet."

"I'm serious. No work. No fighting. No intimate activity." Ratchet turned his stern glare to the small group of femmes huddled on the other side of the berth. They all cringed. "_You_ lot, keep your cute little hands off of him. He needs _rest_. Go find some other mechs to play with for a few orns."

At this, Optimus released a low, almost involuntarily growl, just audible enough that everyone in the room looked at him in surprise.

"What?" Ratchet snorted, arching an optic ridge. "_What_?"

"Nothing," Optimus grumbled, optics still clamped tightly shut. "Just…nothing."

"Don't you nothing me. You just _growled _at me. To use a human expression, what lit the fuse on _your_ tampon?"

Optimus cracked open an optic to deliver a quick glare before relaxing once more. "I'm just…I don't want other mechs putting their hands on my femmes."

Elita rolled her optics and dumped her face into her hands, shaking her head; the other femmes, however, all proceeded to squeal and jump into Optimus's berth, clamping down upon him in a ferocious group hug.

Ratchet spared the dogpile little more than a disapproving glance before stepping away from the berth, making note of Prime's progress on his chart. Looking up, his optics landed on the only femme who hadn't gotten in on the glomp-a-thon, and his spark froze.

A tiny blue femme was hovering by the berth, hands tucked prettily in front of her belly, watching her family happily, smiling shyly when Optimus extended a hand to her from beneath a mass of adoring femmes. Taking her hand, Optimus pulled her closer, pressing his mouthplates to the tips of her slender fingers, and Ratchet felt a strange burning in the pit of his tanks.

Frowning, he pressed a hand to his lower abdomen. What was _that_? It had felt an awful lot like…jealousy. But that couldn't be…

Could it?

* * *

(It could.)

* * *

_**Two deca-cycles later…**_

Being the CMO had its perks. The position alone got Ratchet a lot of respect. Others seemed to automatically assume that he must be a saint, with the wisdom and patience akin to that of a god. Femmes immediately trusted him; mechs immediately liked him. It wasn't hard for Ratchet to put on an amicable, cheerful face when meeting new bots (his patients would argue that being in his care was worse than an ice bath in the seventh circle of hell, but they all made it out of his med bay in better condition than they had been in upon entering, and that was Ratchet's only real concern).

Being the CMO also got him very special access codes to every room in the entire base. Pausing outside the handsome apartment complex the Prime shared with his femmes, Ratchet frowned a little, optics luminous in the dark. He'd vowed to only use those codes in the event of medical emergencies. Shifting his weight a little, he glanced surreptitiously down at his codpiece—behind which lurked a slightly uncomfortably swollen interface rod.

Well. Medical attention was needed if such a condition persisted longer than four hours, and his had been pestering him since he'd passed her in the rec room that morning. Definitely a medical emergency, and it had to be…taken care of…_immediately_.

Opening up the security pad, Ratchet punched in his code, wincing when the door beeped and slid back a little too quickly, squeaking on its tracks. He held still for a moment, listening for stirrings within, before stepping cautiously into the darkened entryway.

Creeping inside, closing the door carefully behind him, Ratchet slipped into the living area, tiptoeing through the social room to peer into the hallway containing the private rooms. Optimus's door was slightly ajar, and his and Elita's recharging forms could be seen entwined on the berth. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Ratchet quietly pulled that door closed before continuing to slither down the hallway.

He paused two doors down, frowning darkly. Which room was hers? Frag, why hadn't he bothered to ask?

"Ratchet?"

The soft whisper directly into his audio nearly made him shriek—clamping both hands down on his mouth, he turned carefully, spark leaping into his chest at the sight of the blue femme hovering behind him.

"Night…" Lowering his hands, he reached out to her, clasping her gently around the waist and pulling her into him. Nightshade blushed, placing both hands on his broad chest and looking up at him bashfully.

"I…um…you came."

"Not yet, I haven't," he purred, lowering his head to softly mouth the side of her neck. She held down a gasp, knees going weak when his glossa flickered out to trace the junction of her jaw. "Where?"

"Uhm…" Nightshade braced herself against his body, struggling to align her thoughts within the cloud of immediate lust in her processor. "Living room?"

"Wherever," he agreed, slipping an arm around her waist and guiding her out into the spacious living room. Earth's bright, round moon could be seen through the immense window, spilling powdery light into the room, illuminating the civilian armor of the femme in his arms. Overcome by passion, Ratchet dropped his mouth onto hers the moment they exited the hallway, swallowing her whimper.

For a few minutes he couldn't bring himself to stop kissing her. All he knew was the give of her supple lips and the feel of her hot little glossa in his mouth. Groaning softly, he slipped a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head back, devouring her desperately.

Abruptly, Nightshade pulled away, pressing a single finger to his lips and turning her head toward the hallway, bluer than blue optics wide. Ratchet stilled, straining his audios, spark jumping nearly out of its casing when he heard soft mumblings from one of the rooms. A terse moment passed, and the hallway was silent once more. Nightshade allowed herself to breathe, turning to look up at her lover.

"We have to be quiet," she mouthed, and he nodded, flinching when his neck joint creaked ominously. She couldn't help but to smile a little, one petite hand lifting to gently massage the taut junction. Smothering his groan, Ratchet shuttered his optics, dipping his chin to his chest at her gentle touch.

Nightshade bit her lower lip, optics wandering up and down Ratchet's strong frame. She'd been so thoroughly seduced by the older mech she could hardly believe it. He'd been courting her for the past two deca-cycles, exchanging lingering glances and too-long touches, teasing her silently, until an orn ago, when they'd passed in the hallway. He'd pulled her aside, into a storage closet, kissed her gently upon the lips, and requested, very softly, that he be able to see her.

She hadn't been able to tell him no. As much as she adored and respected Optimus, she couldn't deny the way her spark felt when she was with Ratchet—the little jumps and flips it did, the way it clenched when their optics met. Being with him like this, kissing him so passionately, being kissed in return…the reality made her dizzy and her knees weak.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, catching her and holding her against his body when she swayed uncertainly. "Nightshade?"

"I'm fine," she assured him quickly, turning her head up to him, placing both hands flat upon his lower abdomen. Ratchet stiffened, enticed by the small warmth pressed against him, utterly entranced by the part of her soft, sweet lips…

Pulling her closer, Ratchet captured her mouth again, and this time she tasted a different intent completely in his kiss…

* * *

Optimus Prime was not sure why he'd awoken. Lifting himself up on one elbow, he peered blearily around his dark room, antennae pricked. His soldier senses had alerted him to a foreign presence nearby, and he could have _sworn_ he heard footsteps and voices in the hallway, but all seemed to be silent and still. He moved to get up, but winced when something pulled hard in his abdomen, a sharp pain shooting through him like a whip crack.

"Optimus…?"

He turned his head at the small hand upon his lower chassis. Elita sat up, rubbing her optics, gently rubbing the wounded plating of his abdomen. "Sweetspark, what is it?"

"Nothing…" Optimus turned his head back to his door, frowning. "I could have sworn I heard something, is all…"

Elita was quiet for a moment, listening, and when only silence met her audios, she sighed. Leaning down, she cupped his jaw in her hand and turned his face to hers, pressing a feather-light kiss to his parted lips.

"Rest, dearest," she requested quietly, and with a single nod he sank back down onto the berth, wrapping an arm around his mate as she snuggled in against his chest, one small hand resting protectively upon his wounds. He pressed a lingering kiss to her helm before laying his head back, shuttering his optics once more.

* * *

"_Oooh_…Ratchet…"

"Hush," he breathed, running a hand down her taut thigh, optics drinking in the sight of her. They were both on their knees, Nightshade with her thighs spread wide, squealing and whimpering softly at the feel of her lover's finger gently tracing and exploring her femininity.

It was taking all of Ratchet's willpower to keep from moaning aloud. Everything about her spoke volumes for her innocence. The rim of her port was compact and tight, her external node small and sensitive.

"How many times has Prime taken you?" he whispered, trailing the fingers of his free hand down the side of her face.

"Just once," she murmured, turning her face into the touch. "When I first came here. Ratchet, _please_…"

"Patience, love, we've all night," he soothed, but couldn't resist slipping a finger into her port, optics darkening when she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He stroked her inner walls teasingly, relishing the soft gasp he pulled from her. Her lips parted, drinking in cool air, smothered occasionally by Ratchet's. She loved the taste of his mouth—musky and spicy, the way a soldier's mouth should taste.

Licking his lower lip subtly, Ratchet gently removed his own codpiece, breathing a sigh of relief when his swollen spike was released from its confines. Cupping one hand beneath Nightshade's aft, he reluctantly pulled his finger from her wet port and pulled her firmly against his body, hoisting her up to position his crotch beneath hers. Wrapping his other hand behind her knee, he lifted her leg around thigh and thrust his hips forward.

Nightshade hurriedly sank her denta into his shoulder to keep from crying out when his rod brushed against her interface, stimulating her external node and coaxing a rush of lubricant from her port.

"Ratchet," she nearly sobbed, clutching him tightly when he began to rub himself against her, bringing his tentative erection to raging hardness. "Ratchet…!"

"It's good, isn't it," he chuckled into her audio, rubbing her lower back gently. "Prime hasn't done anything so lewd, as he? I bet he took you gently, let you overload first, then let you rest…"

"I sucked on his spike," Nightshade mumbled. "That's pretty dirty, isn't it?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "You're so naïve." Gyrating his hips against hers, he nipped her throat. "Enough talk of Prime. How do you want it?"

"What feels good to you?" she inquired, placing her hands on his shoulders and leaning back, cocking her head to the side. "How do you like to do it?"

Ratchet blinked. Well, that was thoughtful. He'd never had a femme ask him how _he_ wanted to interface. Most of his conquests came panting to his door, begging to be ravished; he'd never had a femme so eager to please him as well.

It was…well, it was _adorable_, was what it was.

He decided, right then and there, that the femme deserved his best. Not just a mind-blowing overload and a kiss when it was done—she was a work of art, an erotic gem to be cherished and ravished. Ratchet folded his arms around her, kissing her firmly, savoring her lips as he lowered her onto her back.

"Just like this," he told her quietly, thumb brushing over her cheekplate. "Right here. Where I can see you."

Nightshade blinked up at the mech looming imposingly over her small form, a little confused by his words, but her processor went blank when he leaned in to his kiss her once more, glossa sliding into her mouth and meeting hers hotly. Again he kissed her breathless, hands wandering down her frame in gentle strokes and caresses.

"_Ratchet_," she breathed, arms sliding beneath his to clench behind his shoulders. "I want you…"

He buried his face into her neck, shuttering his optics, breathing in her scent. One hand gripped her thigh gently, parting her legs, and he rubbed his hips against hers teasingly before slipping the head of his spike into her port. She inhaled sharply, nodding for him to continue. Carefully, torturously, he pushed into her, biting her throat to restrain his own moan at her tight hotness. Her back arched at the wonderful intrusion, port stretched to the brink of pain and unimaginable pleasure. Unable to hold back though willpower alone, she clamped both hands over her mouth.

"Okay?" Ratchet mouthed in the dark, and she bobbed her head up and down, optics widening and filling with tears when his thick spike slid into her to the hilt. He pulled back until only the head remain within her before pushing in once more, wincing when her inner walls clamped down on him.

"Just a moment," he whispered, pulling out and lifting his frame off of her. She lowered her hands, pushing herself up on her elbows and looking at him in confusion.

"Why…?"

"You're not producing enough lubricants," he said matter-of-factly, stroking one finger down her folds, eliciting a soft gasp from the prone femme. "It's making it difficult and more painful than it has to be. I'm going to help you along, that's all."

He offered not another word of explanation, instead lowering himself to his stomach and softly kissing her belly. Nightshade watched him in fascination, a small quiver of anticipation racing through her as his lips moved lower. The moment she realized his intent, she laid back quickly, pressing both hands to her mouth just in time to silence her cry when his glossa flicked over her node.

Ratchet inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of her arousal, running his glossa from the bottom of her port back up to her node, her lubricants paralyzingly sweet. He stimulated her with light, swift licks, slipping one finger into her port while he suckled on her node. She was squirming, back arching with each lick, wroth to let a whimper pass through her fingers. She'd suspected that Optimus could do to her interface what she'd done to his, but she'd never imagined that a mech could be this _good_ at it. Ratchet used just the right combination of gentleness and force, his licks turning to rough laving against her port.

"There we go," he murmured, smiling when his glossa was blessed with a thick gush of lubricant. "Much better." Lifting himself onto his arms and knees, he crawled back up her body and kissed her once more, smothering her cry when he hilted himself inside her. Her slick warmth enveloped him. She could taste herself on his lips, and it only made her feel hotter.

Grasping her thigh and parting her legs, Ratchet began to thrust into her, plunging again and again into her hot wetness. Nightshade grasped him tightly, fighting down moans with each stroke, wrapping her legs around his hips and sobbing inaudibly when his rod hit a sweet spot deep within her.

The lovers were completely silent, deaf to all but the soft _thump, thump _of his hips on hers. She felt a thrill race through her, a divine clenching in the pit of her belly, and she squirmed against him, rubbing their bodies together.

"I'm going to overload," she breathed into his audio, involuntarily clenching around him and milking his rod each time he pulled out.

"Then let go," he whispered, optics smoldering as he looked down at her. "Let yourself go."

Her hands fisted against his broad chest, optics darkening, and she kissed him desperately as her port shuddered and contracted, leaving her hovering on the edge of blissful overload. She felt his glossa in her mouth, his hands on her waist, his rod buried within her, his thighs beneath her—she teetered, and with one powerful stroke she came, shuddering wildly in his arms, back arching impossibly hard.

Ratchet panted softly, optics burning hot with desire as he watched her writhe through her climax.

The moment she began to come down from her high he withdrew from her, leaving his soaked erection straining in the air. Picking up her trembling frame, he carried her to the couch, laying them both down lengthwise upon it.

"I'll tell you," he whispered, settling in behind her and slipping a hand between her legs, lifting her thigh gently, "when I'm with Ironhide, this is how I like to be taken…"

She stifled a gasp when he pushed into her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back to his chest. His hips went back to work, pumping against her aft, leaving him panting and groaning as he worked himself to climax. His hand descended to play with her external node, already so swollen and sensitive from their coupling, and she mewled softly at his attentions, clenching against his rod to heighten his pleasure.

"_Nightshade_," he panted harshly, gripping her hips in both hands, biting the back of her neck to keep from crying out. All at once his overload roared through him, his spike erupting hard. Nightshade gasped, a second orgasm shaking her to her core, heightened by the hot transfluid spilled within her.

Groaning, Ratchet collapsed against her, his body sagging against hers, helm dropping onto her shoulder. Their bodies heaved, entwined intimately, legs and arms tangled together. Moving gently, he slid his rod from her spent port, her back arching as he pulled out.

"Primus," she mumbled weakly, optics fluttering closed. "Primus…"

"Alright?" he questioned lazily, pushing himself up on an elbow, grinning sleepily and caressing her cheekplate. Turning her head, she peered over her shoulder and smiled up at him.

"Yes, more than alright. Wonderful. Thank you, Ratchet…"

"My pleasure," he purred, lowering his mouth to kiss her sweet lips once more. "Would you like me to help clean you up?"

"I'll take care of it," she replied in a whisper, sitting up and peering over the back of the couch. "Ah, there's your codpiece." Looking back down at the mech sprawled handsomely on the couch, she grimaced. "Ratchet, I'm sorry…I don't meant to do this, but…"

"I know, I know—I need to beat it," he acknowledged, swinging his legs off the couch and getting heavily to his feet. "I understand. But, Princess," he added, taking her hand, pressing his mouthplates to the backs of her fingers before softly kissing each fingertip, "I really would like to see you again."

"I'd love that," she whispered, leaning in close to him. They kissed once more, a lingering, loving gesture, before he slipped off the couch and replaced his codpiece. Tossing a last look over his shoulder, he couldn't help but to watch her, hopelessly enticed by and desirous of the little femme. Looking up, she waggled her fingers in a clumsy wave, overcome by drowsiness, and he offered her one small smile before creeping back out of the apartment.

* * *

Nightshade glanced at the chronometer on the wall, a tiny thrill of excitement racing through her. First Aid and Red Alert were getting antsy, mimicking her glances, waiting with little patience for their shift to end.

"You two would be safe leaving early, I bet," Nightshade offered sweetly from her tiny desk in the corner of the medbay. "It's slow today."

"And risk Ratchet's wrath? Don't think so," First Aid laughed, shaking his head. "No harm in sticking out the last few breems."

Nightshade smiled, but felt ready to yell and kick them out herself. Primus, yes, there was harm in their staying! As soon as they left, Ratchet could come in, and then…

She bit her lower lip, subtly shifting in her seat and pressing her thighs together. And _then_…

"You two are still here?"

Biting down a cry of relief, Nightshade swiveled on her perch to grin at the stocky white medic who stomped good-naturedly into his medical bay. His optics latched onto hers for a moment, burning sweetly, before he turned his gaze to his assistants.

"Go on, get. It's late."

The duo retreated with hasty thanks, and no sooner had the door closed than Ratchet was upon his prey, knocking Nightshade backwards with a squeal, landing her flat on her back on her desk, sending data pads and styluses clattering to the floor.

"Ratchet!" she squeaked, wriggling in his iron grasp, a soft moan breaking loose when he lowered his denta and lips to her throat. "Ratchet, I…_ooh_…"

"Good femme," he breathed, glossa darting out to tease a wire cluster beneath her jaw. "Thank you for waiting."

"Anytime," she said breathily, gazing up at him with foggy optics as he straightened, lifting her effortlessly and pulling her into his chest. Taking his cue, she leaned in close to him, biting gently at the seams of his chestplates as he lifted her and carried her smoothly to his much larger and more accommodating desk. Setting her round little aft neatly upon the edge, he parted her thighs with one strong hand and stepped in between her legs, bringing his mouth to hers in a wanton kiss, coaxing a needy moan from her parted lips. He ran his glossa over her lower lip, optics darkening with lust as her small hands darted over his shoulders. Her taste was painfully sweet and sinfully tempting…

His internal sensor beeped, informing him promptly that he had a tagged patient approaching the med bay, and with lightning reflexes Ratchet flew backwards, making himself appear busy at his bench just in time for Optimus Prime to wander in the door.

"Evening, Ratchet," the commander rumbled, seating himself slowly upon the examination berth with a pained grimace. Glancing up at his medic, a grin twitched itself into position on the handsome mech's face. "Didn't forget about me, now did you?"

"I admittedly got a little sidetracked, Optimus, but I am more than prepared to see you," Ratchet replied smoothly, gathering his supplies and approaching the berth. "Nightshade, will you grab his chart for me?"

The little femme didn't respond for a moment, still dazed from their heated kiss, but managed to collect herself enough to slide off the desk and obey Ratchet's request. Optimus watched the femme with concern, placing a hand on her shoulder when she came to the berth.

"Nightshade, are you feeling well? Your internal temperatures are raised, and you look…flustered."

"It's been a long day," she managed faintly. "Not busy," she added quickly when a look of alarm flashed over Optimus's face. "Hardly anyone has been in, so I've been doing some busy work all day." She smiled weakly, patting his immense hand. "I don't know how you do it. It's very taxing."

The mech laughed gently, leaning in and brushing his mouthplates over her helm. "It's because I have you girls to come home to. _Ouch_, Ratchet, could you be more gentle?" he added with a grimace when Ratchet prodded a sensitive weld. "It's not all ship-shape down there yet."

"Hmph. I know that." Ratchet straightened, frowning irritably. "Abdominal injuries never cease to be a pain in my aft. Same regimen. No strenuous activity, and stay in your quarters as much as possible. Elita can bring you work if you're desperate for something to do."

"_Why_ would I ask for work to do?" Optimus asked, scowling.

"I know you, youngling," Ratchet growled, prodding his patient in the head with a wrench. "You say that, but a few breems from now you'll be sneaking into your office to get caught up. I mean it, take a break. You're not as young as you used to be, it's not going to be so easy to bounce back. Time to get used to being an old bot."

"Yes, yes," Optimus sighed somewhat impatiently, brushing away Ratchet's accusing hand. "I really am enjoying the time off, Ratchet, so you needn't worry. Elita is wroth to let me off the berth, let alone let me wander around the base."

"Good. Off with you, then," Ratchet said flatly, waving a hand toward the door. "I'll send Nightshade here along in a few breems, I have a few things to discuss with her."

"I'll wait," Optimus offered, but Ratchet shook his head sharply.

"Confidential stuff, Optimus. Medics only."

"Take her into the other room, then. I could use the company," Optimus said casually, shrugging one shoulder. "I'll wait right here, Nightshade."

Ratchet didn't miss a beat. "Very well, then." Taking Nightshade by the shoulder, he led her into a room at the far end of the hall, closing the door firmly behind them. Before she could squeeze a word in, he had her pinned between the wall and his impressive girth, his mouth assaulting hers roughly, his hands already caressing her thighs and maneuvering her legs up around his hips.

"Wa—wait—Ratchet," she gasped, pulling away and placing her hands on his chest, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Won't Optimus hear?"

"We just won't use the names of the patients, then," Ratchet replied loudly, removing his codpiece to reveal his bulging erection. He ground against her, optics dark and sensuous lips parted and inviting. "Now, Patient A here has presented with—well, you know those human commercials that recommend medical treatment if the _condition_ persists more than four hours?"

Nightshade's mouth opened wide in shock, but the deviant look Ratchet was giving her was too alluring. Leaning in to softly suck on his lower lip, she replied casually, "Oh, yes, the poor dear. What are we going to do for him?"

"I hate to do it, but we'll have to do something to relieve all that pressure," Ratchet responded, assisting her in removing her sodpiece and easing the head of his thick rod into her entrance. "And we'll limit his intimate activities for a while."

"Seems that the problem is solved." Nightshade tipped her head back, mouth opening in a soundless cry as Ratchet plunged his entire length within her, excitement racing through her. "N-Next?"

"Patient B. Raised internal temperatures and some problems with, well, controlling his libido, it seems," Ratchet replied, his voice dropping to a low rumble near the end. "Psychological analysis might be needed…"

"We can do that," Nightshade breathed, cupping a hand behind his helm and drawing him closer. They paused to kiss, glossae winding together intimately between their tightly clasped mouths before Ratchet broke away, struggling to control his intakes while he pumped his hips into hers.

"Patient C has been experiencing spasms of the lower body," Ratchet went on, jerking erratically into her sodden port for emphasis. "No explanation available yet. We'll just have to _observe_ him carefully and see what becomes of it…"

Panting, Nightshade looked down, fighting back a moan at the erotic sight between her legs, watching hungrily as his stiff rod plunged again and again into her wetness.

"That will be interesting," she managed, struggling to keep her voice even. She inhaled sharply, shuttering her optics as she felt her lower body clench tightly with her impending climax. She clamped down her walls around him, milking his rod, nearly crying out at the slick friction.

"Last one," Ratchet growled out, pressing her harder against the wall with each pump of his hips. "Experiencing random…ejaculations…of fluid from various orifices…"

"How unexpected," she said aloud, and then she went over the edge, arching hard and nearly sobbing at the pleasure.

Ratchet lost the plot at that, kissing and licking her throat as the pretty little femme climaxed in his arms, her thighs tightening around his hips, her fluids smearing against his crotch and thighs. She felt _divine_. Everything between them was heat, burning impossibly hot, the friction far too much and yet not enough. He wanted more of her, wanted her tight port and his glossa all over her body. Panting with need, he laved his glossa hungrily over her neck.

She came down from her high with weak whimpers and gasps, clutching him as he drove into her with soft, wet sounds. Abruptly Ratchet set her down, spinning her around and coaxing her to lean forward. Bracing her hands against the wall, she arched her back, exposing her port to him. He stepped up to her, grinding his erection against her aft before pushing inside her once more, gripping her hips firmly.

He finished with several hard, pounding strokes, barely withholding a roar as he spilled transfluid inside of her, coating the walls of her relaxed port. Nightshade squealed at the sensation, wriggling her aft against him and clenching the walls of her port as he withdrew.

"That's the whole load, then," he said at last, having taken a few moments to steady his breathing. She straightened and turned to face him, blinking in confusion when he beckoned her back up against the wall and motioned for her to part her legs. "Any questions?"

"Am I going to be needed to take care of any loads after this?" she inquired, trembling when he knelt and began to lick her intimacy, cleaning away her lubricants. She was unable to hold in a gasp when his glossa teased her external node, one delicate hand resting on the back of his helm and pulling him in closer. He pursed his lips around her node, sucking on it gently, before dipping his head and allowing his glossa to meander into her port, circling it before diving in.

"Not for today, at least," he chuckled, smirking when a second, weaker orgasm washed through her, lapping up her new lubricants eagerly. Removing a towel from subspace, he rubbed her thighs down quickly, eradicating the remaining evidence of their escapade. He couldn't resist lapping at her valve appreciatively one last time before straightening, pressing a lingering, hot kiss to her moist mouth before stepping away and toweling himself off. She eyed his half-cocked rod thoughtfully, but all too soon it had disappeared once more behind his codpiece. She gave him a disappointed look, but he shook his head ruefully, smiling. Any longer and Optimus would get suspicious.

Nightshade followed him out, a little sheepish, and felt a pang of guilt when she saw Optimus still seated patiently on the berth, looking a bit stiff and uncomfortable.

"Thank you for your help today, Nightshade. I always appreciate new apprentices," Ratchet said smoothly, patting her platonically on the shoulder. "Take care of the lugnut here. Make sure he gets plenty of rest. I'll be along tomorrow to check up on him."

"Of course, Ratchet," she replied, smiling sweetly before taking Optimus's hand in both of hers. "Come on, Optimus. Let's get you home so you can rest, yes?"

"You're too cute, Nightshade," Optimus chuckled, patting her check with his free hand before getting heavily to his feet. "Alright, alright, I'm coming already…goodnight, Ratchet, and thank you…"

Ratchet nodded briskly, watching his patient and new lover leave, and managed to wait for the doors to close before pulling off his codpiece, dropping his hand to his hard rod. Moaning, he backpedaled a few steps, falling against the wall and sliding to the floor, pumping his spike, still a little wet from his encounter.

"Ironhide," he croaked, turning on his comlink. "I could use a hand with something…"

* * *

_Shit_, an uncharacteristically grumpy Optimus thought that evening, handsome faceplates sliding into a pout, invisible in the darkness of his living room. There he was, resting comfortably on his couch, with several femmes draped over his frame, half of them sniffling and in desperate need of a big, strong mech shoulder to cry into. The movie on the vid screen was ridiculous, frankly, with humans dying left and right of various causes while the lovers, the hero and heroine, struggled to stay alive while half naked the entire time. Elita and Chromia were obviously completely not amused but stuck around to enjoy their sisters' company if nothing else. The other femmes, on the other hand—the wickedly tough Firestar included—had all dissolved into tiny little sobs about halfway through, and were still sniffling noisily. Even Phoenix had popped in for the evening, and whimpered every time it appeared that the lovers would perish.

It should have been a bang-a-thon, really, with all those cute little femmes all upset and needing comfort, and Optimus, unfortunately was still not allowed to engage in any intimate activities. Well. None that required that he actually move around, at least.

He licked his lower lips subtly, grimacing at the uncomfortable friction between his legs. Elita was seated next to him, one hand resting casually on his knee; Nightshade was leaning back against his legs, helm directly level with his crotch; Moonracer was on his other side, both arms wrapped around his waist with her head resting against his chest. When Arcee climbed onto the couch and stretched herself out with her head in his lap, Optimus honestly feared that his crotchplate was going to pop off.

Well, frag. Ratchet could go take it up the aft. Optimus was in desperate need of attention, and damn it all, he was going to get it.

As if on cue, Nightshade abruptly climbed to her feet, smiling apologetically when her sisters whined at her. "Sorry, girls. I feel like I need a quick wash is all. Be back in a bit."

Optimus tracked her hungrily with his optics as she walked around the couch, patting his shoulder gently as she departed to the back rooms.

Taking her lead, he shifted his femmes aside, apologizing profusely when they growled at him. He made no excuse to leave, and they didn't question him, though he caught Elita watching him suspiciously as he headed off. Thankfully, she let it drop, and he was free to prowl after his newest conquest.

Optimus was not surprised when he didn't find Nightshade in the wash racks; her excuse had been far too inadequately timed. Up for a chase, he searched the surrounding rooms, and was delighted to find her in one of the spare rooms, used generally when Optimus brought home a femme outside of his harem. Nightshade was seated on the side of the berth, legs dangling over the ledge, her sodpiece off and her thighs spread. Optimus halted in the doorway, one hand on the door though still standing in the hallway, intakes hitching.

Nigthshade squirmed uneasily, unaware of his presense as she looked down at her bared intimacy. In the dim light that fell in from the open door, Optimus could see the glitter of lubricant lining her small port. The little femme shifted on the berth, whimpering when her port rubbed against the soft fabric of the berth. When her hand dropped between her legs, Optimus backpedalled, hitting the opposite wall silently, his pump racing. He hovered uncertainly, conflicted. As much as he was _dying_ to see Nightshade pleasure herself, he couldn't bring himself to intrude on her privacy. He knew how much it horrified him when Elita or one of the others walked in on him; as open as he was with them, touching one's own body was something intimate and very, very private. Not for other's optics unless it was meant especially _for_ them. And Nightshade was quite unaware that Optimus was there.

His raging erection was making him question his moral code. Looking dubiously down at his slightly bulging crotchplate, Optimus made a quick decision and approached the door once more. Knocking softly upon it, he called quietly, "Nightshade?"

She squealed, leaping up, scrambling to hide herself, but Optimus entered smoothly before she had the chance.

"O-Optimus—I was just—erm—"

"I know," he soothed quietly, seating himself at her side. One hand reached over their bodies to slide up her thigh, and he retracted his mask with a soft _click_. "I was not watching."

"O-Oh. Um. Good? That's good…" She shuttered her optics, distracted by his mouth on the side of the neck, his lips and glossa tasting her with utmost tenderness and desire. Her core burned as his hand gently kneaded her thigh, thumb stroking her sensually.

"Bed rest," she protested weakly, shuddering powerfully when his hands parted her thighs once more, fingers covered at once in her lubricants.

"Interface is not the only way to be intimate with one's partner," he breathed, softly biting at her exposed throat. His fingers traced the rim of her port, audios drinking in her breathy moans. He couldn't help but be smugly satisfied by her soft pleas. He brought her in close, pulling her half onto his lap as he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her firmly as he gently pressed a finger into her port.

Something didn't feel right. Immediately. Twitching, Optimus cautiously slipped a second finger into her effortlessly, then a third. He felt as if he'd been dumped in ice water. His pump rate increased as he slowly moved his fingers within her. Her valve was already stretched and soft, and much to versatile for a femme who had only been taken once.

Panting, Nightshade opened her optics when the ferocity of Optimus's kisses slowed until he wasn't responding to her pleading lips at all. Her thighs tightened around his intruding hand, optics indigo with lust as she looked up at him.

"Optimus…?"

"…Who?" he asked softly, so quietly she could barely hear.

"Sorry?" When he didn't respond, she leaned in, trapping his lower lip between hers, running her glossa over his mouth, trying to entice him back into their intimacy. Optimus's pump only thudded harder, a distinct roaring in his audios. He hadn't taught her to kiss like that.

"Who's been in your port?" he asked against her intruding lips, and she froze in his arms. She leaned away slowly, nearly trembling. Slowly, robotically, he removed his fingers from her port, examining the thick lubricant with distaste. He felt numb, though his spark shook with fury. He wasn't upset with Nightshade, but he was _dying_ to rip to shreds whatever mech had saw fit to take what was rightly _his_. The femmes in his harem belonged to _him_. To the _Prime_.

Nightshade was his to take, and no one else's.

"Tell me who it is," Optimus growled, cobalt optics turning upon her with fire. "Tell me who it is, Nightshade."

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, reaching one hand out to him, shaking fingers latching hesitantly around his chest armor. "I'm sorry, Optimus…"

"It's alright. Tell me who it is." He kept his voice cool and calm, but the roaring was so loud now he could barely hear her.

"…It's Ratchet. It's Ratchet, but I'm sorry…"

Ratchet?

Ratchet…as in, Ironhide's squeeze? That Ratchet? His medic?

…That _medic_ had the _nerve_ to restrict Optimus's intimate activities while he slept with one of the Prime's femmes…?

Nightshade shrieked in surprise when Optimus bolted off the berth, striding with pounding footfalls to the door, pulling it open wide and storming out of the room.

"Optimus?" The helpless femme replaced her sodpiece hurriedly before scrambling off the berth and taking off after him, panicked. "Optimus! Stop, wait—Optimus!"

Elita swiveled on the couch, surprised to see her gigantic mate emerge from the hallway like something out of the Pit. "Optimus, what in Primus's name…?"

"Don't speak to me," Prime growled, optics darkening dangerously. He said nothing more, making a beeline for the kitchen area, seizing a rag off the counter to wipe off his fingers. Nightshade came down the hallway a moment later, scanning the quarters quickly before catching sight of Optimus again.

"Optimus, wait," she pled desperately, running to his side and grasping his arm before he could head for the door. "Please, wait! I didn't mean to upset you! Don't hurt Ratchet, _please_…"

"Let go, Nightshade," Optimus said quietly, optics still locked on the door in front of him. "I'm just going to talk to him."

"Don't go while you're angry," Nightshade protested, pulling back on his arm. His immense frame didn't budge. "Please, please, Optimus! Don't go."

Shaking his arm loose of her grasp as gently as he could, Optimus shook his head wordlessly and strode for the door, opening it to admit his exit and slamming it behind him. Nightshade burst into tears, quickly taken into the arms of a bewildered Elita while Chromia got to her feet to follow Optimus out the door.

* * *

Ratchet gasped unsteadily, dropping his head forward onto Ironhide's immense chestplating, gripping Ironhide's forearms where his hands were locked around the medic's waist.

"Damn, damn," Ironhide grunted. "_Dammit_, medic, do I ever tell you how good you feel?"

Ratchet could only groan in reply, panting shallowly, rear port stretched to near painful proportions around Ironhide's immense length. Ironhide leaned in intimately, biting roughly at his lover's shoulder plating, groaning as he felt his overload begin to ripple through him.

He didn't get to finish. The door opened behind him, thrown open so hard it hit the opposing wall and bounced off. Ironhide jumped so badly he slid out of a gasping Ratchet, spinning around on his knees from his kneeling position on the floor.

Waiting in the doorway, armor swelled to frightening proportions, stood a fuming and very pissed off Optimus Prime, optics darker than night and wide mouth set in a firm snarl.

"Prime…?" Ironhide questioned, bewildered. "What the Pit is wrong with ya?"

"Off," Optimus snarled quietly. "Get off of Ratchet."

Horribly confused, Ironhide stood slowly and backed up, painfully self-conscious of the erect rod waving between his thighs when he saw Chromia appear under Optimus's arm, blue optics watching inquisitively. Optimus ignored her, striding forward and gripping Ironhide firmly by the shoulder. Without a word of explanation, he pushed, forcing a yelping Ironhide to backpedal to the nearest med berth.

"Prime, what the Pit are ya doin'?"

"Hush," Optimus growled, and without a word more forced Ironhide onto this back, leaning over his prone frame to roughly take possession of his weapon specialist's mouth with his own. Ironhide grunted in surprise, optics widening, but his programming kicked in at once, recognizing the presence and dominance of the Prime and falling into quick submission. Ironhide went limp in his commander's unyielding embrace, groaning and stretching his jaw to accommodate the harsh kiss.

Satisfied that his prey would behave, Optimus pulled back, mouth moist where it had touched Ironhide's, and silently gestured for Ironhide to roll over. The black mech complied, rolling onto his front and looking over his shoulder expectantly, optics smoldering with barely checked desire. He and Optimus had interfaced several times in the past, but never before had the Prime been so forceful and demanding.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, Optimus's spark roared in triumph at Ratchet's stunned expression. Moving forward, Optimus climbed onto the berth, coaxing Ironhide onto all fours. Gripping his waist tightly, mouthplates parted with unchecked lust, Optimus removed his codpiece and thrust into Ironhide's rear port, the intrusion coaxing a pained cry from his lover. The Prime stilled for several moments, allowing Ironhide to adjust before he began to move, withdrawing before plunging into the black mech's rear port up to the hilt of his rod.

Ironhide gasped and squirmed, the burn quickly turning from pain to pleasure, dropping his head down and crying out harshly with every invasive thrust. Optimus snarled quietly, gripping Ironhide's waist tightly, grimacing in pained ecstasy at the divine clench around his rod. He hadn't been inside another mech in vorns—not since Firestar had joined his harem. Three femmes was enough to keep him busy, but he found that he'd missed the rough interface. Mechs could take a pounding that femmes just couldn't in the berth. And _oh_, was it wonderful…

The weapons specialist came with a roar, hitting the berth with one fist while writhing back against his fierce lover. Optimus groaned thickly, rod erupting several times within Ironhide's rear port, climax racing through him in a wave so intense it nearly took him offline. They rested for several moments, intakes heaving, and Optimus was reluctant to withdraw from his conquest. Rubbing Ironhide's aft appreciatively, receiving a distant grunt in reply, Prime replaced his codpiece and turned to the stunned, silent medic still sprawled on the floor.

"Next time you want to see Nightshade," Optimus growled, kneeling down on one knee and jabbing a finger into Ratchet's chestplates, "you had _damn sure_ better ask me first."

Ratchet nodded dumbly, mouthplates hanging open, and Optimus closed them with a hand under the medic's chin before getting to his feet. A grinning, laughing Chromia took the arm he offered her, and the smug duo trotted back to his quarters.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Nightshade….no, I didn't hurt Ratchet…no, I'm not angry with you…no, shh, it's fine, you silly little femme, it's all okay…"

A blubbering Nightshade wailed loudly, making Optimus wince, and buried her wet faceplates in his shoulder. Sighing lightly, he rubbed her back, making soft little soothing noises to comfort her. Chromia was relaying the story to her sisters, nearly in tears from laughing so hard, while Elita sat at Optimus's side, glaring at him while she offered the little femme rags to wipe her face with.

_You're unbelievable_, she growled at him over her comlink.

_He didn't have my permission_, Optimus replied coolly, shrugging one shoulder, patting Nightshade's helm gently.

_To hell with that! Nightshade can interface whoever she damn well pleases!_ Elita fumed heatedly, optics narrowing.

_She's too young. I can't risk some other mech taking advantage of her_. Cooing down at the femme in his arms, Optimus coaxed her into looking up at him, placing a loving kiss on her noseplates. "There there, dearest. It's alright. I'm not angry with you, and Ratchet and I understand each other now."

"…You do…?" she sniffled, wiping her noseplates messily on the back of her hand. Elita rolled her optics and offered her the rag.

"Yes, we do. If you still want to see him—and not for interface, Nightshade, I don't approve—then he can come here and court you properly." Smiling, Optimus cupped her cheekplate in his hand. "I'm only trying to protect you, sweetspark."

She nodded, sniffling thickly when he gently kissed her foreplate. He shooed her off lightly, and she petted his chestplates shyly before climbing off the couch to rejoin her sisters. Elita pointedly smacked Optimus on the back of the helm, grinning at the growl she received in return.

"Idiot. Are you going to shag Ironhide if I run off with some other mech?" she asked cheekily. His optics narrowed.

"I'll kill whoever you run off with."

"That's not very Prime-ly, now is it," she murmured, leaning closer to him and running her fingertips over his chest. He rumbled softly, catching her small hand wrapping his own around the small of her back, drawing her closer to him.

"I don't care. No one else can have you."

"Hmph. But you'll let the others go off with lovers?"

"You're not like the others," he murmured, speaking intimately against the hollow of her throat. She stilled, shuttering her optics when he pressed his mouthplates to the center of her chestplates directly over her spark.

"Optimus…"

"You belong to _me_," he breathed, drawing her body close, mouthplates wandering over her chassis.

"Yes, yes," she sighed softly, her arms wrapping gently around his shoulders to pull him in closer. "Always and forever, yours."

He was quiet for a moment, hands ghosting over her frame, the quiet thrum of her spark enchanting his own.

"Lita…" he whispered sensually, taking her hand in his own.

"Hmm?" she responded, lulled and soothed by his mouth on her frame.

Titling his helm back to look up at her, he tugged her down to him, capturing her mouth with his in a sweet kiss. Whispering then against her lips, he breathed,

"Bond with me."

* * *

**OH SNAP. I'm deciding whether to post the next part. It's...pretty...yeah. It's just pretty yeah.**

**Reviews! (This is sixteen pages long. SIXTEEN.)**


	6. The Ultimatum, or, Tales of Screwer

**Yes, more.**

**Ah, screw it. If the story gets deleted, so be it. This is good stuff, and honestly, I've seen racier stuff make it into the M section. So! Without further ado! Pointless smutz for the entertainment of my readers!**

**Also-A PLOT! Yes, that's right, you heard it hear, a genuine plot! It exists! Which means the smut isn't even so pointless anymore! BRAVO!**

**Oh, Nightshade STILL belongs to Leggypoo, and I'm STILL just whoring her out. Not mine. Not mine, ever. Go read "When In Doubt." It's majestic. MAJESTIC I SAY.**

* * *

"Has she come out yet?"

Elita One threw a dubious glance sideways at the mech standing nearby, giving her pretty helm a shake. "Nope."

Optimus Prime deflated, expelling a long, hot sigh from his vents, shoulders drooping. Stepping forward, he rapped one fist upon the door to his wayward femme's room. "Nightshade? Please come out, dearspark."

What sounded like a muffled 'I hate you' sounded from inside the room, and Optimus scowled while Elita covered her laughter behind one hand, shrugging innocently when he glared at her over his shoulder.

"Any ideas?" he asked helplessly, grimacing when something hard bounced off the door from inside. "She's really upset."

"Of course she is. Finally gets herself a proper lover, and you humiliate her and Ratchet and then tell them they can't see each other," Elita replied flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I just said with restrictions!"

"So, basically, not at all."

Optimus groaned, pinching the space between his optics. "Nightshade. Please open the door. We need to talk." When he got no response, he added, "or I'll break the door down."

A pause, and then the door slide back a fraction, Nightshade's cute face peering cautiously out at him. She had obviously been crying; streaks of tears lined her flushed cheeks. Biting her lower lip, she stepped back a little to grant Optimus entrance. Ducking a bit as he came in through the doorway—Elita decided to give them their privacy and departed quietly—the Prime looked down at his newest femme, reaching out to gently wipe a fresh tear from her optic.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Nightshade," he said softly, placing his hands upon her shoulders and drawing her gently into his body. Sniffling loudly, she pressed her face into his chest, her femme instincts automatically lured by the presence of the handsome mech. Something deep within her stirred, a primal desire to mate the Prime, but she quashed it with some difficulty.

"I want to see Ratchet," she mumbled thickly, disheartened by the heavy sigh that escaped him.

"Not now. I want him to think about what he's done. To you, and to me."

"Ratchet didn't do anything to me!" Nightshade protested, jerking her head up, but one look from Optimus silenced her.

"He romanced and bedded you knowing full well that you belong to me, and knowing full well the implications it could have for you," Optimus said flatly. "I realize that you harbor feelings for him, Nightshade, but in the end, he needed to be more responsible, as a mech and as your senior and my subordinate."

Nightshade pursed her lips, sullen. She knew Optimus right, but all the same, she missed Ratchet. How could she get Optimus to let them see each other?

"What is it that you want, Optimus?" she asked quietly, tipping her head back to look up at him demurely, full lips pouting, and she saw him twitch visibly. She knew very well that he was powerless against his femmes. "If you just want me all to yourself…" she trailed one finger down his chestplates as she spoke, stepping forward to bring her hips flush to his, "all you had to do was ask…"

A low, predatory rumble came from his engine, and with a smirk she hooked a finger under his chin, guiding his face close to hers, tilting her head to angle her mouth across his, their lips hovering mere centimeters apart. "I'll stay yours," she murmured heatedly, drawing her helm back a hair when he tried to close the distance between them. "My body, my spark, all given without reluctance to my Prime…"

"Nightshade…" he growled, his voice low and husky with desire. Dipping his head, he sampled her throat with gentle bites, hands gripping her waist to pull her body intimately to his. She turned her head away from his wanton mouth, leaning forward to whisper into his audio.

"All yours whenever you would like me…just let me see Ratchet…"

Frag, sounded good to him, anything to get this femme back into his berth and get him between her legs… He was about to say as much when the tiny portion of his CPU that wasn't completely clouded by want firmly kicked his logic center.

"Hn…wait…" Shaking his head, he straightened up, pointedly moving the femme back. "No, Nightshade, no, that's not the point! I don't want you seeing Ratchet for your own protection, not so that I can keep you here…"

Nightshade dropped the façade, face falling back into a sullen pout. _Damn_. She knew Optimus was noble, but even noble didn't explain how he could call off a femme that was practically humping his leg to get with him—that was just plain stupidity on his part. "I'm perfectly safe with Ratchet!"

"You're young," Optimus retorted, rubbing his foreplate. "The fact that you just tried to seduce me to get what you want proves that. If you continue to see Ratchet without my permission, you will be in contempt of my title as Prime, and Ratchet will be acting against strict orders. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Nightshade mumbled, turning her head and sticking her glossa into her cheek.

Optimus arched an optic ridge, pointedly lifting her chin to force her to look at him. "Yes what?"

Glaring at him darkly, Nightshade amended, "Yes, _sir_." Satisfied, Optimus leaned forward to gently kiss her foreplate.

"I really am sorry, sweetspark. I'm only trying to protect you."

"I thought you were here to keep your femmes _happy_," she grumbled.

The Prime let his optics rove over her frame, studying her body language. He thought the matter was settled, but she was clearly ready for another row if he responded incorrectly. "That is not my primary function."

"So your duty as Prime is to screw us into ignorant bliss?" she said shortly, folding her arms over her chest.

He twitched, but forced his voice to remain low and calm, despite the internal flare of his temper. His programming and instincts screamed at him to discipline a femme who dared to talk back to her lord and her Prime, but he quelled the feeling quickly. He was _not_ that mech. "Nightshade. You know our intimacy is completely voluntary. The fact of the matter is that femmes are precious and need to be protected. Who better to protect you than your Prime?"

"Ratchet could protect me just as well. He's been a soldier even longer than you have, for Primus's sake!"

Optimus flared his nasal plates, cycling air deeply through his intakes. "I am trying to be patient, Nightshade, but you are making it increasingly difficult for me. You are not to see Ratchet for a time. When I see fit, you will be permitted to see him when accompanied by an escort of my or Elita's choosing."

"Elita will let me see him alone," Nightshade shot back.

"Not if I instruct her otherwise," he said flatly.

"Now you think you can order her around?" Nightshade demanded, armor swelling in furious indignation. "Everyone seems to think you're so wonderful, Optimus, but it seems to me that you're really just an overly dominant mech who's too full of himself to understand that he's in the wrong—"

The Prime moved too fast for her civilian senses to track, and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, pinned to her berth by his mass. Optimus Prime loomed over her, optics dark, his expression thunderous. His hands pinned her wrists by her audios. Startled, she squirmed against him, gasping when he pressed a thigh between her legs. He wasn't hurting her, but he was far too large for her to have any hope of getting free without his allowing her to do so.

"Let me go," she said shakily, trembling when his heated leg pressed against her sodpiece. "Optimus…"

"Apologize," he growled, optics narrowing. "You are young, and you do not yet fully understand your role as my femme. I will be forgiving."

"Apologize for what?" she demanded, anger surpassing her fear. She knew in her spark that Optimus would not hurt her, no matter how red his temper grew. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Nothing wrong?" he snarled, optics flashing. "Sleeping with one of my officers behind my back? Questioning my authority over you? Insulting me? Insulting _me,_ your Prime, your lover, when I have dedicated my time and effort to protecting and pleasing you?"

In one quick motion, he clasped both of her hands in one of his, pinning her arms above her head, and with his free hand he swiftly removed her sodpiece. She bit her lip, arching her hips into his hand when his fingers dipped into her port, caressing the thickly lubricated walls.

"You're wet," he rumbled, optics darkening with growing lust. "This situation is arousing to you?"

"You're the Prime," she breathed, tipping her head back to gaze up at him, admiring the dark, sensual being he'd become in his anger. Emboldened by his heated growl, she continued, "I get wet when you just walk into the room."

Three fingers invaded her port, his leg nudging her knees apart, and she keened desperately when his fingertips prodded the deepest recesses of her valve, sending heat blossoming through her lower body. She hadn't interfaced since Optimus had confronted Ratchet (and Ironhide's rear end), and her whole body ached at his attention.

He released his hold on her abruptly, kneeling between her legs and forcing his glossa into her valve, his mouth covering her port entirely. Her vision turned white, and she marveled that she could know such pleasure before he'd even worked her into overload. Optimus groaned against her intimacy, intoxicated by the taste of his femme, swirling his glossa around the rim of her valve before thrusting back in deeply. Elita had spent a good deal of their time together teaching him exactly how to please a femme with his mouth; she used to love to bind his hands behind his back and force him to work her into overload with his glossa and lips alone.

A helpless groan escaped him at the thought of his favorite femme, and he shuttered his optics, allowing his thoughts to fly to her fleetingly, imagining the rosy red of her armor, the sound of her voice when he brought her to overload, the way she writhed against him…

He shakily dropped one hand to his codpiece, ripping it free, exposing his painful erection to the open air. Withdrawing his mouth from Nightshade's valve, he sat upright, panting, watching the twitches and spasms of her body as she hovered on the brink of overload. Much to his surprise, he found his interest in her dwindling; the thought of Elita was absolutely enrapturing.

"Optimus," Nightshade whined, thrusting her hips hopefully toward his straining spike. "Optimus, please…"

"No," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "That's not much of a punishment at all, now, is it?"

"You practically sucked my valve dry," she purred, flashing a sweet smile up at him. "Isn't that punishment enough?"

He smirked at her, trailing a hand down her thigh, squeezing gently, sampling her sweet body. She really was a lovely femme. Ratchet was lucky to have captured her attentions. Optimus decided he would have to rethink his restrictions on their relationship; if Ratchet desired Nightshade the way Prime desired Elita, even when buried in the intimacy of another femme, Optimus had no right to stand in their way.

But that didn't change the fact that Nightshade had been disobedient. From his subspace Optimus pulled a thick plastic phallus, a special vibrator he reserved for just such occasions. He watched Nightshade's darken with anticipation as he lubricated the vibe with his own precum, making sure it was sufficiently covered before gently sliding it into her port. She keened sweetly at the invasion, arching her hips and tightening her thighs.

"Good," she moaned, humping gently against his lingering hand. "Optimus, that's so good…"

"I'm glad you think so," he replied smoothly, pushing the vibe in as deep as she could take it, until only the end still protruded from her port. Without another word, he withdrew his hand and snapped her sodpiece back in place.

It took her several moments to realize what he'd done. Her jaw fell open, and she scrambled to sit up, moaning loudly when the vibe shifted inside her.

"You're kidding me," she gasped, legs trembling as she shifted uncomfortably against the berth. "Optimus—"

"I can't seem to communicate the emotional frustration I feel when my femmes betray my trust, so I'll teach you via physical frustration," he purred, running a hand up her thigh and gently stroking her sodpiece. "You will leave that in until I deem fit. Am I understood?"

"It's not enough to overload," she said, dismayed. "Optimus, please…"

Smiling, he drew her close, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her hotly, tasting her even denta and the smooth roof of her mouth. Her glossa met his desperately, drawing his into her mouth, sucking on it the way she sucked on his spike. He broke the kiss, petting her noseplates with a smile.

"You can't arouse me any more than I already am," he chuckled, "no matter how talented that cute mouth of yours is. I think I'll punish you further, if this is the reward I get."

Ignoring her plaintive whines and begging for release, he sent a brief text to Elita, who entered the room a moment later.

"Oh, Primus, not Screwer," she laughed, stroking Nightshade's helm sympathetically as she joined her friends on the berth. "That vibe is wicked, Optimus."

"You named it?" he chuckled, reaching out and drawing her close to him, guiding her talented hands between his legs where his little friend strained for her attention. She obliged him at once, climbing into his lap, facing him, her hands working him gently. He placed his hands on her thighs, pressing his mouth to her throat and humping his hips upward into her hands, allowing himself to slip into the bliss of overload at her touch. When his optics rebooted, he peered around his lover to smirk at Nightshade, who was halfway through the process of pulling off her sodpiece.

"Ah, ah," he reprimanded her gently, catching her wrist and pulling her into him. Elita followed his cues with ease, taking Nightshade's hands before binding her wrists behind her back with quickly subspaced cuffs.

"Elita, for the love of Primus, not you too!" Nightshade all but shrieked, pulling on her restraints desperately. The vibe was impossibly deep inside her, and though her valve clenched desperately against it, it wasn't enough to bring her to overload, and she craved release desperately.

"I should have warned you about what a sadist Optimus can be before you ran off with Ratchet," Elita said apologetically, gently petting Nightshade's small aft. "How long are you going to make her carry Screwer, my love?"

"As long as I see fit," he smirked, drawing Nightshade in for another kiss. "Go into the other room, sweetspark. I'll relieve you in due time."

Whining the whole way, Nightshade clambered clumsily off the berth and left the room. The door closed at Optimus's silent command, but no sooner had he turned back to his lover than Elita climbed into his lap once more, her mouth closing over his in an impossibly intimate kiss. He shuddered his optics, surrendering to her, opening his mouth at her coaxing and letting her kiss him freely.

"I love you," she murmured, drawing her helm back and brushing her mouthplates against his, kissing his lower lip before moving her mouth to his jaw. She'd forgotten how good his body felt beneath her.

"Love you more," he said tenderly, clasping his hands around her waist and gently thumbing her hip plating. "What brought this on, may I ask?"

She was quiet for a moment, clasping his face in her hands and letting her fingers trace his handsome countenance. "Nothing in particular. I think that sometimes I forget to let you know how much you mean to me."

He smiled, pulling her into him and closing his arms around her, cradling her body close to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rocking with his body, allowing him to lay her back against the berth. They stayed entwined, savoring the intimacy of their embrace.

"You need to have mercy on Nightshade," she murmured, warm mouthplates caressing his audio as she spoke. "I remember the first time you 'punished' me with that thing."

"I seem to recall you were less than happy," Optimus replied, smiling at the memory. "You threatened to rip my interface off and slept with Magnus to spite me."

"Ah." Elita flinched. "That was a lie."

Optimus blinked, drawing back a little to stare down at her. She tightened her grip on him, drawing him gently back into her embrace.

"I lied about being with Magnus to make you jealous," she confessed quietly. "I was young and stupid, you know?" She bit her lower lip, feeling dangerously vulnerable, but Optimus felt so warm and so alive in her arms. She pressed on. "You're the only one I've ever been with, Optimus."

His optics warmed, and he brought her close once more, pressing his face into the space between her neck and shoulder.

"Bond with me," he murmured, nearly hoarse with the soft, spark-felt request. "Please. I love you, Elita."

She frowned, running her fingers over the back of his helm. "Make me a deal then, Optimus."

"Anything, love."

Drawing him close, she pressed her mouthplates to his audio. "I bond with you, and you give up your harem."

* * *

For exactly five point six joors, Nightshade suffered.

She tried to reflect on her actions, she really did, but it was nearly impossible with Screwer buried into the deep recesses of her port. Her valve contracted against her will, gripping the vibe's ridges, but without the physical stimulation she couldn't get to overload. It certainly didn't help that Optimus kept activating the thing without warning, making it vibrate happily for several breems before shutting off right as she reached her climax. As the sixth joor waxed, her frustration became nearly unbearable.

"Please, Optimus," she moaned softly, seated in his lap, her thighs spread over his while her small hands flitted over his broad chestplates. "_Please_. I can't take it anymore…"

The Prime smirked, running his hands over her thighs, squeezing the supple metal gently, tilting his head back when her sweet mouth found his throat. "Is that so?"

His room was dark, the lights dimmed to enhance the atmosphere. It certainly seemed that he planned on taking her tonight, but as Nightshade couldn't be sure, she turned up the charm.

"I need you," she breathed, nipping softly at the base of his throat before allowing her glossa to trace a path over his chestplates. His upper chassis heaved softly under her ministrations, his optics drifting shut as his thighs tensed with arousal. "Inside me, taking me so hard I can't feel anything but you…"

"You've learned your lesson, then," he surmised, bringing a hand to her aft and pulling her close. She nearly cried out in relief when his crotchplating met hers, and she ground against him eagerly, relishing the physical contact. It did little to relieve the intense burn in her valve, but relief was relief.

"I won't go against your word again," she panted. "You own me…"

Optimus smiled faintly, gently guiding her mouth to his and kissing her sweetly, savoring her one last time. "No, Nightshade. He does."

Nightshade blinked, confusion settling in when he lifted her in his arms and turned her around. Her spark froze at the sight of the mech standing in the doorway.

"_Ratchet_," she breathed, all thoughts of her dominating arousal forgotten at the appearance of her lover. "Ratchet!"

"Hello, sweetspark," he murmured, happily catching her in his arms when she dove on him. "I hear you've been a naughty girl…"

"Absolutely scandalous," she replied, a grin stretching her faceplates as she pulled back to gaze up at him. His handsome countenance mirrored her smile in full, his warm optics drinking in the sight of her small form. A small gasp escaped her when he pulled her lower body flush against his. "What are you doing here?"

"Optimus summoned me," Ratchet replied simply, looking over the top of the femme's head at his watching Prime. "For what purpose, though, I don't know."

"I'm giving her to you," Optimus said lightly, leaning back against the berth and smirking at their stunned expressions. "Who am I to put a stop in the desires of the spark?"

"Elita had something to do with this, didn't she," Ratchet chuckled, stepping around Nightshade and approaching the polychromatic Prime with a smile. Optimus didn't reply, merely quirking an optic ridge in amusement. The medic leaned down and cemented his mouth to his commander's, kissing him deeply, drawing the Prime's glossa into his mouth and sucking on it with heady arousal before releasing him.

"Thank you," he murmured, trailing his fingers down the Prime's relaxed form to the bulging blue codpiece. Optimus shook his head, stilling Ratchet's hand.

"You don't have to. Focus on that femme over there—she's been dying to see you," he whispered, accepting another smoldering kiss before getting to his feet. Stealing one lass kiss from Nightshade's pert mouthplates, his hand drifted between her legs and removed her sodpiece swiftly. His nimble fingers carefully removed Screwer, and he grinned at the shuddering gasp she released. "Enjoy yourself, sweet," he said quietly, petting her faceplates before exiting the room. The door closed behind him, leaving the enamored lovers alone at last.

Nightshade was on top of Ratchet in a sparkbeat, throwing him backwards onto the berth—_Prime's berth, _she realized with a thrill—and latching her mouthplates onto his, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. He grinned, rolling over to trap her beneath his hefty frame, sucking on her lower lip before moving his mouth to her sleek throat, glossa eagerly exploring the sensitive wires and circuitry.

"Did he take you?" Ratchet asked in a whisper, and his spark nearly leapt from its casing when she shook her head eagerly. "Then this will be fun…"


End file.
